Kings And Queens Of Promise: Origins
by Sarina Hawke-Theirin
Summary: When evil calls and darkness roams free in the world, no one remains unaffected. Throughout history, in such perilous times, the most unlikely heroes always rise to rail against the shadows of a tainted land to protect those unable to protect themselves. This is the tale of such heroes. This is where their story begins.
1. The Angry Mage

_The corridors of the tower were narrower than the young apprentice recalled. Templar Lieutenant Colston lumbered along several steps ahead of her, his footsteps echoing off the stone walls of the otherwise empty hallway. Where was she headed? Breakfast? Supper? The apprentice couldn't remember._

 _Someone's arms were around her waist, lifting her feet from the floor and spinning her around. The scent of sandalwood and spice hung heavy in the air. A pair of soft lips graced her cheek as her toes touched the marble tiles once again._

 _"Good morning, love," a familiar, husky voice whispered in her ear._

 _The young woman's knees felt as if they would buckle when the arms let her go. Just as they always did. Just as she knew they always would. She watched the man as he sauntered away from her, the long legs of his overly tall frame taking extended strides. He headed straight for the attentions of another female. The other woman was much shorter and a bit older than her._

 _The young apprentice felt rage and sorrow tangle a web inside her gut when he repeated the action with the other woman. How could he do such a thing after sharing her bed the previous evening? Didn't he care about her feelings at all?_

 _Colston stopped in his tracks and turned to her. His eyes looked different. Darker. His mouth curved into a sympathetic smile._

 _"I can't imagine how much that hurts," the templar sympathized. "Too bad there isn't a way to ensure he never shared his affections with anyone but you."_

 _The apprentice's brow arched. What was Colston playing at? Why should he care about Anders and the relationship she desired to have with him more than anything else in the world?_

 _"I know of a way to make that happen," the templar continued. His grin was wider. More malevolent. "Follow me into that classroom up ahead. Zaria has a potion in her private stores that will cure all your ills. If you drink it, Anders will only have eyes for you. The best part is, he mixed it himself as an experiment."_

 _The apprentice's lids narrowed as she studied Colston's face and pondered the offer he had presented to her. Something about it was off. Something about the entire scenario was wrong. She tried to concentrate, but it was difficult to think. Her brain felt as if it were lost in fog and shadow. She closed her eyes and called a ball of light into her hand. It sprang to life, much quicker and larger than she expected._

 _The Fade. She was in the Fade. She opened her eyes to see the true form of the demon standing before her. Purple skin, black eyes, perfect in its feminine measurements. She exhaled a perturbed sigh and waved a dismissive hand._

 _"Begone, demon," she commanded._

 _"But it is not that simple," the spirit of desire smirked. "You know how this must end. Unless…perhaps we can make a deal. Anders can be yours and yours alone, you don't even need to do anything right now. All I want in exchange is your promise. When you wake from this dream, you locate a spell hidden within the books of the tower's libraries. With it, you will bind me to one of the other apprentices. That way, we both get what we want."_

 _The young woman dawned an expression of indifference. "As appealing as that sounds. The answer is still no."_

 _She called her magic to the ready. Lightning began to crackle around her fingertips. With a flick of her wrist, the apprentice flung the spell at the demon. It struggled for only a moment against the electric bolts before disappearing completely. It was much easier to defeat than she had imagined. Too easy, as a matter of fact._

 _The air grew heavy as darkness closed in all around her. Grey tendrils of smoke enveloped her body, making it difficult to breathe. The effect of the atmosphere brought waves of nausea to her stomach and she closed her eyes against the whirling vision._

 _The apprentice bolted upright in her bed. Her stomach remained unsettled. She turned her head to the sight of First Enchanter Irving beaming proudly at her._

 _"I knew you could do it child," he told her. "You are even more brilliant than I gave you credit for."_

 _"Thank you, First Enchanter," she replied._

 _"Now," he said with a pat to her knee. "Follow me to my office. We have much to celebrate."_

 _Just as before with Colton, there was something off about the entire situation. Even if she was his only pupil, Irving would never come to her dormitory to congratulate her. He would have sent someone to tell her to meet him in his office. She scooted back on her bed and eyed him with suspicion._

 _"Why didn't you just send Jowan to get me?" she questioned._

 _He laughed. There was something cold and ominous about the sound of it. Mirth without joy, unfeeling and sinister._

 _"You are too important to just send someone to fetch you, child," he answered. "You've studied hard and proven yourself worthy of more than mere accolades. In my entire long life, I have never met anyone as brilliant as you. I have a suspicion that when my time as First Enchanter draws to a close, it will be you who takes my place. The youngest First Enchanter in the history of the Circle."_

 _The apprentice liked the sound of that. There would certainly be changes in the confines of the Circle if she were in charge. But something in the back of her mind was nagging at her. She couldn't quite place it._

 _Irving stood and beckoned her to follow. She looked toward the door and saw only blackness on the other side where the lyrium lamps of the corridor should have been shining. She peered up into her mentor's eyes and the irises flashed the color of ink for a split second._

 _"I have the sneakiest of suspicions that the demon of desire wasn't my true foe," she surmised._

 _Irving stopped. As he turned toward her, his shape morphed into the largest beast she had ever laid eyes upon. She had seen drawings of Pride demons in books, but she hadn't realized how big they would really be._

 _The voice that resonated from the creature was booming, yet haunting. "Your pride will betray you one day, young one. Perhaps not now. Perhaps not in the Fade. But it could very well be your undoing."_

* * *

Solona's head pounded as her lapis blue eyes blinked open. The dim light shining above her head was too harsh, too bright. She dropped her hands to her sides and scraped her nails across the wool of the blanket beneath her. The aching muscles of her right leg contracted as she stretched her foot to touch the large piece of wood at the edge of the bed with the tip of her toe. She ran the digit across the smooth surface until it touched upon deep scratches etched into its length.

She was in her own bed in the apprentice's dormitory. Her Harrowing was complete and she managed to retain her head. As her vision began to clear, Solona realized someone was standing above her. She sat up, put her feet to the floor and rubbed her eyes, allowing the image of a dark haired young man to come into focus. The light was still glaring, but becoming more bearable.

"Were you planning on standing there watching me sleep all day?" she croaked. "Or did you want something?"

Her throat was sore, as if she had spent hours screaming, her mouth dry as the desert. Then she remembered the potion she was given just before her test. The aches and pains she felt must have been a result of that concoction.

She watched her best friend tuck a wisp of his thick, shoulder-length hair behind one of his large ears. He flashed a relieved smile, revealing a set of large, slightly crooked teeth and a pair of deep dimples in his cheeks. Even at the age of twenty-one, Jowan appeared to be nothing more than a tall, skinny boy. To anyone who didn't know him, they would probably think him to be no older than fourteen or fifteen. His shy, self-depreciating demeanor only added to that effect.

"I've been waiting for hours. Thank the Maker you're alright."

The space between his heavy brows disappeared as his fingers began nervously fiddling with the front of his robes. There were obvious questions swirling around in his mind, questions he was afraid to ask. She waggled her head.

 _Spit it out, Miri._

That's what Solona always said to Miriana when she behaved in such a manner. It had been fourteen years since the young mage had seen her sister, and it still never ceased to amaze her how much Jowan reminded her of her twin. Her brow arched with annoyance.

"Of course I'm alright. What did you expect?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "I guess I was worried. When you disappeared yesterday morning and didn't come back at all last night, I figured you had been taken for your Harrowing. Most mages get carried out in shrouds after the test. I thought that maybe…"

Solona folded her arms over her chest with a huff. "You were worried that _I_ wouldn't pass my Harrowing? You can't be serious."

She remembered what the demon said about her pride, and a cold shiver ran down her spine. It couldn't be helped. Not in the tower. Confidence was key within the confines of the Circle. Those who wavered were eaten alive by the nest of vipers that called the place home. She straightened her shoulders and donned the mask of indifference she wore and knew all too well.

Jowan cringed at the harshness of her tone. His fingers moved faster as he awaited her inevitable admonishment, which irritated Solona even more. She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly through pursed lips. She had to remind herself that he was her friend and she didn't have to keep up appearances quite so much with him. He was merely concerned with her well-being and only because he cared.

After fourteen years in the Circle, Solona had become a master at backhanded compliments to those who held power and an expert in slinging insults at those she felt were beneath her. In honesty, she found people intolerable as a general rule. Most were stupid, disloyal, blatantly dishonest, and wore false humility like a badge of honor, all of which were insufferable characteristics to her. They were traits she exposed and manipulated in others for her own advantage, and she felt justified in the deed. In her mind, they deserved it, and most would do the same to her if given the opportunity. Through loyalty and general sincerity, Jowan happened to be the exception to the rule.

Still, most people who watched the two of them believed her to be overly cruel and critical to the boy she claimed was her best friend. Solona didn't see it that way. He was the one person she was always honest with. It was true, she was harsh in her criticisms of him. But her words were meant to serve as a way to toughen his resolve and help him grow a thicker skin. Any insults she afforded him were nearly always made in jest. The only exception to that was when her temper got the best of her, but it happened so rarely with him.

"Just sit down," she finally ordered with exasperation when she realized he was beginning to back toward the door.

The apprentice skulked to her bunk and settled himself as far away from his friend as he could before concentrating on his twiddling thumbs. "I'm sorry," he said, his apology quiet and timid. "I couldn't help it. I was worried."

"It's alright, Jowan" she relented with a sigh. "I'm just a bit out of sorts." He continued to fidget with his face set in a scowl. "Okay, out with it. What's on that thing you call a mind?"

"What was it like?" he asked. "I've heard it's like facing the Void itself."

"Let's just say you have to use your brain. Not that difficult, really." She smirked. "Of course, that means you'll be in serious trouble when your time comes." Jowan pouted the way he always did when she teased him. She rolled her eyes. "Oh, lighten up. You know I'm only kidding." His sullen expression remained unchanged. She sighed. "You'll be fine, Jowan."

Had it been any other apprentice, Solona's taunts would not only have continued, but probably worsened. She couldn't bring herself to do that to Jowan, though. She loved him. Not romantically, of course. He just wasn't her type. But like a brother.

"I'm sorry, Solona. I can't help it. I've been here longer than you have."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. You've been here, what? A whole two months longer than me? All you have to do is quit setting the instructors' hair on fire."

He shook his head despondently. "It's not like I can stay an apprentice forever," he whispered as if he hadn't heard a word she said. "And there are things far worse than death."

"As usual, you're worrying over nothing," she chided. "But I'll help you if need me to."

"And how are you going to do that now that you'll be living upstairs?" he questioned, seemingly out of the trancelike state he was in just moments before. "We won't have the same classes anymore. We won't even have the same meal times. I doubt you'll have time to even talk to me, let alone help me. And even if you do get the chance…you probably won't want to."

She cupped his chin and turned his face so he could meet her gaze. His green eyes glistened in the nearby lyrium lamp and tears stained his cheeks. She swiped at them with the flats of her thumbs.

"You're my best friend…my brother. I'm not going to just move upstairs and forget about you. We're all each other has, and we'll always be together. Always have been, always will be. No matter what. I won't have it any other way."

For a moment, she thought she saw something in his eyes. Something she recognized. Something she had seen in her former lover Anders' amber eyes too many times over the years. She dropped her hands to her lap and glared at him.

"Speaking of which, best friend, where in Andraste's name have you been sneaking off to after lights out every night? You're not planning on trying to escape are you?"

The question was only half made in jest. He jumped to his feet as if the seat of his pants were on fire.

"I almost forgot, I was supposed to tell you to see Irving as soon as you woke up."

Solona's stomach turned, and she swallowed past a lump in her throat. She had to control her fear. He couldn't possibly be thinking of running. Not him. Not Jowan. In an effort to hide her misgivings, she cocked her left brow and smacked her lips.

"Evade the question, if you want, but I will find out. I always do."

"We'll talk about it later" he sighed. "Alright?"

"Fine" she huffed. "But don't think I'll forget about this."

His expression turned to a grimace before he circled and disappeared through the doorway. Solona immediately went to the dressing table next to her bunk and began brushing out her shoulder-length, sable brown hair. Her lapis eyes stung against the salty tears forming within them. How could he even think about doing such a thing? Was it her? Had he finally gotten tired of putting up with her intolerance and bitchiness just like everyone else?

Maybe it wasn't that. Maybe it was something else. There had been rumors floating around that he was a blood mage, but Solona knew better. Jowan really did have trouble mastering minor flame spells, and had actually caught an instructor's hair on fire a few years back. He'd probably kill himself if he ever attempted using blood magic. Whatever it was, he was going to tell her, even if she had to beat it out of him.

After rinsing her mouth and popping a peppermint leaf between her teeth and jaw, Solona did a quick job of her makeup then headed for Irving's office. When she reached the main rotunda on the second floor, she decided to make a detour through the library first. She wanted to see if she could catch a glimpse of the newest templar who had been assigned to the tower. She had heard that Riker was tall, well-built and extremely handsome, and Solona wanted to see him for herself.

She couldn't explain it, but she had always found herself attracted to the men who watched over the mages. She supposed it was probably due to the fact that fraternization between mages and templars in the tower was strictly forbidden. The illicit trysts she had with them over the years were certainly enjoyable and always felt dangerous and intriguing.

Unfortunately, the only templar guarding the library that morning was Shepland and he was an ugly old coot with a bad attitude and even worse breath.

 _Oh well_ , maybe _tomorrow_.

As she rounded the corner to the mage's rooms, Solona espied the templar who had become her latest potential conquest over the past several months, and her foul mood picked up instantly. Teasing Cullen had become one of her favorite pastimes following Anders' last escape, and she did it every chance she got. He was just so different than her former lover. Quite his opposite, in fact, aside from the color of his hair and slightly deeper brown eyes.

Where Anders was extremely tall, Cullen stood at just under six feet. Anders was thin and lanky, and Cullen muscular. Anders' hair hung in long, loose curls down past his shoulders when unbound. Cullen's was trimmed short and neat and lay back in gentle waves across the top.

The most striking difference between the two men, though, were their personalities. Both were handsome, but where Anders was always very aware of his good looks, Cullen seemed oblivious to his own. Although charming to a fault, age and experience had made the healer extremely arrogant. The templar, on the other hand, was young and shy. They were traits Solona never found particularly attractive before, but after the ceaseless heartache she had endured at the hands of her previous lover, she felt the need for a change. One that might finally allow her soul to heal without becoming overly attached. Cullen was a templar, after all. How far could their relationship ever actually go?

Solona had been in love with Anders for years, since the age of thirteen. Although he was much older than her, she had been infatuated with him from the first time she saw him when she was eleven. He was all she thought a man should be, and she was determined that he would be her first lover.

After the first time they were intimate, Solona tried everything to win the healer's heart, but nothing she did ever seemed to work. He always held her at an emotional distance, refusing to acknowledge they were ever anything more than friends with benefits. Still, she loved him with everything she was.

The last time she shared a bed with Anders, she awoke alone, as usual. She thought nothing of it at first and headed to find Jowan in the dining hall. She spent the entire day looking for the healer, but he was nowhere to be found. No kisses on the cheek or greetings of "Hello, Love," in the corridors that she had become accustomed to over the previous few months.

The next morning as she sat there at the long dining table next to Jowan, eating another breakfast of bland oatmeal, she heard chatter about her lover's latest escape. He hadn't said a word, but snuck out of bed and disappeared as if he were never there. Just the way he had so many times before. Just the way he promised he would never do again.

A little more than a month later, Solona was walking the Senior Enchanter's floor, when she discovered Anders had been brought back to Kinloch. She made her way to the First Enchanter's office where she was told her lover had been sentenced to a year in the dungeons. She begged Irving to allow her to visit him, although she wasn't sure herself if it would be to console him or confront him.

When the old Enchanter refused, she stormed out of his office and straight back to the apprentice's dormitory where she lay in her bunk until well after lights out. She then strolled between the bunks until she found a younger man with hair as blonde as Anders' but cut and combed instead of long and loose. After very little convincing, she led him to her bed and told him to fuck her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pawed at him with wild abandon until she reached her climax.

As soon as it was over, she shoved him out of her bed. She then pulled the blankets close to her chest, turned to the wall, and forced herself to sleep with the scent of her former lover's cologne on her pillow assaulting her senses. Since that time, she had taken many lovers to her bed, but none of them ever filled the empty chasm Anders left in her heart.

She supposed a great deal of her interest in Cullen lay in the fact that Anders always hated the younger man. He seemed irritated whenever the templar was around. Almost jealous. She wondered how the healer would feel if he ever found out she took Cullen to her bed. What if she were to actually become romantically involved with him? Perhaps then, Anders would know a little of what he had put her through. Sexual conquests never bothered the healer, but a true relationship might finally open his eyes.

Although Solona had been trying for months, perhaps now that she had passed her Harrowing, it was finally time. Perhaps Cullen would finally give in to her flirting and coquettish grins. The young mage donned her most winning smile and strode up to the object of her desire.

"Hello Cullen" she greeted him cheerfully.

Cullen began fidgeting nervously. "Oh…um…hello, Miss Amell."

Solona tilted her head to the side and flashed a wry smirk. "Cullen, how many times do I have to remind you? Call me Solona."

"I…I'm sorry…I just can't do that" he stammered.

"I'll get you to do it someday" she proclaimed as she took a step closer to him. "Now that I'm moving up to the second floor, I suppose we'll be seeing a lot more of each other."

He gulped. "Y…yes…I suppose. C…congratulations on passing your Harrowing, by the way."

"Thank you" she smiled. "You were there weren't you?"

He nodded. "Yes…I was given the duty to…well, you know…if anything went wrong."

Solona moved forward another step until she could feel his warm breath caressing her face and pouted. She wrapped one of his blonde tendrils around her index finger and twirled it playfully. "You wouldn't have _really_ cut me down, would you Cullen?"

The templar tried to retreat back a step, but the wall at his rear stopped him in his tracks. Sadness filled his apologetic brown eyes. "I wouldn't have relished doing it, but I would have done my duty if it had been required of me."

"It's alright, Cullen. I understand, but it does make me feel better to know you wouldn't have enjoyed the job."

He searched her eyes longingly. "Of course I wouldn't have…Solona."

She glanced down the corridor to either side before putting her mouth next to his ear. "Thank you, Cullen…for caring" she whispered before letting her lips softly touch his cheek.

Solona felt his body shudder against hers at the contact. His natural musk mixed with his cologne was enough to make her light-headed. A familiar stirring against the bottom of her belly prompted her to reach down with her unoccupied hand and run her fingers across the bulge protruding from his uniform as she slowly pulled away.

His face was bright red as he flashed a shy, boyish grin. "My shift ends just before supper this evening, perhaps…maybe we can talk more then?"

The mage nodded. "That would be lovely, Cullen. I look forward to it."

She turned to head to Irving's office, but stopped to wave back at him over her shoulder. Perhaps she could convince Cullen at supper to join her in her room after lights out. If they shared a pleasant enough evening in her bed, maybe he would even consider an ongoing affair. Templars were notorious for discussing their sexual conquests among each other. Perhaps the news of an ongoing liaison between the mage and the templar would reach Anders' ears in the dungeons. It was certainly an exciting prospect.

Solona's good mood went sour when she saw the Knight-Commander in the First Enchanter's office. Maker how she hated that bastard. It wasn't a secret the man held no love for mages. In his dealings with the magically gifted, he was always cold and calculating, even cruel and sadistic, not physically, but mentally and emotionally.

She began to back away from the door, intent on returning after Greagoir's departure, but took notice of a dark stranger in silver and blue armor standing between the other two men. She recognized the griffon symbol etched into the steel plate on his chest from pictures in some of the history books she studied over the years. He was a Grey Warden, and by the elaborate design of his armor, a high-ranking one at that.

There could be only one reason he was there. He was recruiting. She wondered, was he looking for mages or templars? If it was mages he needed, perhaps he would be scouting some of the younger gifted since most of the senior mages were already gone to Ostagar. The thought of leaving the tower to fight in a battle wasn't first and foremost on Solona's mind, but it would be a way to get her out of that Maker forsaken place. Perhaps she could convince the Warden Commander to take her with him if she could get him out of Irving's earshot. He was still a man, after all.

The young mage strode into the room with an air of confidence and purpose. "You wanted to see me, First Enchanter?"

Irving beamed at his protégé. A sense of pride shone in his eyes as he took a step toward her, like a father with an accomplished child. The First Enchanter had taken Solona under his wing when she was still a girl, the only apprentice he had mentored since gaining his title. When anyone would ask him why he took such an interest in such a precocious apprentice, the old man would simply say that he liked her moxie.

Solona was no pet, however. She worked hard to earn the First Enchanter's respect and accolades, spending countless hours poring over tomes written for those who were more advanced in years and experience. The old man was never one for coddling either. He always expected his apprentice to strive for perfection, and she always gave everything she did her best effort.

Greagoir, who was certainly never impressed by the young woman, greeted her intrusion with a sneer before addressing the older man again. "Well, Irving, you're obviously busy. We will discuss this later."

"Of course," the First Enchanter said dismissively before returning his attention to his student. "Well then…where was I? Oh, yes. Solona, this is Duncan, Commander of the Grey Wardens."

Solona gave a small bow of her head. "Hello."

"Is this the mage you told me about?" Duncan queried.

"The one and the same," the old Enchanter replied.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, young lady," Duncan said with a nod. "I suppose you've heard of the troubles to south? I'm here to recruit more mages to join the battle at Ostagar."

Those were the exact words Solona had been hoping to hear. She lifted her chin a bit higher to exhibit both fearlessness and pride. "I have."

"Duncan," Irving interrupted. "There's no need to worry the girl with such talk right now. This is supposed to be a happy day for her." He turned his attention to Solona. "I asked you here to congratulate you and to give you a few things that come with your new status."

The older man handed her a bundle of new robes, a signet ring bearing the insignia of the school of Entropy, and a staff. The first staff she could truly call her own. The stave was fashioned from ash and held no adornments, but simple and plain. It didn't matter, the importance of the stave was what it symbolized. Apprentices were only allowed to handle a staff under the close supervision of a Senior Enchanter. The fact that she could now carry one with her wherever she went proved that Solona was worthy of the title of mage.

"Thank you, First Enchanter," she said as he passed the items to her.

"Perhaps later, you can tell me all about your venture into the Fade. For now though, if you don't mind, could you please show our guest to his room? It is at the end of the hall just past the mage's quarters. I believe Cullen is on duty this morning, so when you finish your task, you can ask him to show you to your newly assigned dormitory." He turned back to the Grey Warden. "We will talk more over lunch, after you have had time to settle in and rest a bit, Duncan."

The Warden bowed. "I look forward to it, my friend."

Solona led Duncan down the corridor toward the library. She definitely intended to discuss the matter with him further, despite what the First Enchanter said. Irving might be reluctant to allow her to join, but she was sure she would be able to talk him into it in the end.

And even if the old man couldn't be convinced, Solona had read enough to know that Grey Wardens retained the right of conscription. If she had a choice, it was the option she preferred anyway. As a Warden she could leave the tower permanently. She could finally be away from the templars and, more importantly, away from her memories of Anders that seemed to haunt her in every corridor.

She then thought of Jowan, and her promise that they would always be together. Then she remembered that look in his eyes. He was planning to abandon her, just as Anders had. She may as well beat him to the punch. But first, she had to convince this Grey Warden that taking her along would be a good idea.

When they reached his room, Duncan thanked the young mage. In an effort to appear casual, she circled to leave, but stopped before she got to the door. She turned to him with the most sincere expression she could muster. "May I ask a question?"

He smiled warmly. "Of course, young lady."

"I have heard that mages can be Grey Wardens. Is that true, ser?"

The Warden narrowed his eyes. "Why? Are you interested in joining our ranks?"

"I think I could be a great asset."

"I'm sure you would be, but Grey Wardens pay a heavy price to become what we are, young lady. And being a Warden isn't exactly freedom. You are bound to a higher purpose for the remainder of your days, and duty to the Wardens comes first, above anything else."

He was reluctant, which wasn't entirely unexpected, but he did seem intrigued by the idea at least. If she could convince him to take her with him at all, perhaps she would have time to belay any misgivings he still had.

"Well, if not that, do you think that there is any way I could at least join the other mages in Ostagar?"

"Every mage is needed now. If you truly want to go with me, I could speak with Irving about it when I see him later."

"Would you? I would love the chance to prove my skills somewhere outside of a classroom."

Duncan nodded. "Then I will see what I can do. For now though, I am sure you have other things to attend to other than talking to an old man like me."

She was being dismissed. In a very courteous manner, but dismissed all the same.

"Of course, ser," she said with a small bow. "Enjoy your rest."

As she headed for the door to give the Warden his privacy, the mage considered the best way to continue their conversation. Perhaps she could catch him in the hall when next he emerged from his room, or maybe she would take something in to his room to tide him over until supper. One thing was certain, she was determined to leave with Duncan. She just needed to find the right angle to convince him.

After shutting the door to the Warden Commander's temporary quarters, Solona turned around to run straight into Cullen. His whiskey brown eyes were filled with confusion as his face twisted into a pained expression.

"Did I hear you correctly? You might be leaving the tower?"

Why did he care so much? He hardly knew her.

"Were you eavesdropping, Cullen?" Solona asked with a curious frown.

"I…I…might have overheard…something," he stammered. "But is it true?"

The mage offered a nonchalant shrug. "Maybe. I suppose for the moment it's up to Irving whether I can go or not."

Seemingly wounded by her answer, the templar's eyes began to glisten in the glow of the nearby lyrium lamp. "But I thought…" He sighed. "Never mind. I suppose it doesn't really matter anyway."

He was upset, genuinely hurt. Solona expected he might be a bit put out by her new plan, but she never dreamed it would bother him quite so much. Did he actually think he was in love with her? She mentally waved the thought away and presented a small smile.

"Irving said you could show me to my new quarters?"

"Yes, of course," he whispered.

Cullen remained silent the entire way. Every few moments, he would look over at her, obviously wanting to say something, but he never did. After they arrived at her assigned room and she laid her things on the bed, he turned to leave, but Solona put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. She had to know.

"Cullen, what was it that you thought?"

He turned to stare directly into her lapis eyes. After several seconds, he took a step toward her and bent his head until his lips were nearly touching hers. She could feel his warm breath caressing her skin, almost taste the fragrant peppermint tea he recently drank.

"I suppose I thought we could be…closer…now that you've passed your Harrowing."

"What do you mean by…closer?" she breathed.

Was it sex? Was he afraid she would leave without ever experiencing all she had to offer? Maybe he was afraid she had changed her mind. Any templar at Kinloch could attest to the fact that she was a sure thing once she took an interest in a man. Perhaps he was still a virgin and was too shy to just come out and ask. That had to be it. As she gazed deeper into his eyes, it became clearer that his desires went beyond an illicit affair. There was real affection there.

He took her delicate hands into his and caressed them with large, calloused fingers. "I…I care about you, Solona…a great deal…much more than I should. I think about you all the time. I know it's wrong, but I can't help it."

He swallowed hard before closing the gap between them and softly touching his lips to hers. Solona melted into him and entangled her fingers in the waves of his hair. She pulled him closer. The strong arms encircling her tightened as his hands moved up her back to the nape of her neck. The young mage had been kissed many times by many men and boys, but this was different. She had only been kissed like that by one other man. She shut her eyes tight.

 _Anders._

She recalled the night before Anders' fifth escape. The night she had been positive their encounter had been more than just sexual. He made love to her that night. She knew it, deep down in the very depths of her soul, she knew it. He had never been so passionate, so tender, so loving. But he didn't speak the words she needed to hear. He never spoke those words to her.

 _It wasn't real, Solona. It never was. Just as this isn't real._

She wanted to push Cullen away, to tell him to go and never bother her again, but she didn't. She simply pulled back far enough to see his eyes, to see if she could discern the lie behind that soft brown gaze. Unfortunately, the only thing she found was gentleness and…

No, she wouldn't allow herself be fooled in such a manner again. She would simply continue to play along until one or the both of them gave up the ruse. Love was only a game, after all. A distraction to pass the time. That's what Anders always said.

Cullen caressed her cheek with his thumb and smiled. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that."

"You have no idea how long I've wanted you to do that, Cullen," she told him with a lascivious grin.

His eyes probed hers. "Do you think this can even work? If we keep it a secret? If we're caught, it will mean a transfer for me at the very least…maybe even dismissal from the Order. And there is no telling the trouble it might bring to you."

What was he talking about? Make what work? If he wanted games, she could certainly play along. She learned from the best, after all.

"Does it really matter?" she asked.

"No," he breathed. "It doesn't. Not at all." He searched her eyes again. "So…do you still think you want to go to Ostagar?"

With a wanton smile, she pulled him in close for another kiss. "What do you think?"


	2. Farewell

Solona's head was still spinning when Cullen finally left her to return to his duties. As she unpacked her trunk and placed the carefully folded clothes into the dressing table next to her bed, she kept going over what just occurred in her mind. The entire encounter was completely and utterly confusing.

When she and the templar were sharing their second kiss, Solona began to lift the skirt of his armor as she urged him back toward her bed. Instead of the usual compliance she was accustomed to, he stood fast and took her hands into his. He then pulled away and, gazing deep into her eyes, softly kissed her knuckles. He flashed a dimpled, boyish, half grin and told her he looked forward to seeing her at supper. Then, after placing a gentle kiss on her forehead, he circled and exited the room.

The young mage waggled her head as she organized her brushes and cosmetics inside the top drawer. What in the Maker's holy name was Cullen playing at? She was certain she made her intentions clear. How could she have made it any more plain other than just throwing him down on the bed and straddling him?

Perhaps he was too afraid they would be discovered to allow it to go any further. She felt his bulge. He was definitely interested. Maybe he was simply teasing her as payback for their earlier encounter. Anders did that on occasion.

 _Anders._

Why couldn't she go more than half an hour without thinking of him? It had been a year since they were together. When was she ever going to be able to just let him go?

Solona grabbed the pillow from inside her trunk and hugged it to her chest. She inhaled the familiar, intoxicating scent of the healer's unique blend of natural musk, sandalwood, and spice which she convinced his friend Corbin to seal inside the cushion. The memory of the two of them lying together, their heads side by side on that pillow, reopened the same old wounds in her heart she had been trying to let heal. Fresh tears began to stain the padding to meld with the thousands that came before. How long? How long would this gut-wrenching agony go on?

He promised he wouldn't run again. He swore he would stay. How could he just lie to her face that way? Leave her like that? Why did everyone she loved leave? She thought of Jowan and the earlier conversation they had. No, he wouldn't. He couldn't abandon her. He knew what that would do to her, and he would never hurt her like that. They were all each other had, after all.

Solona glowered at the cushion clutched in her arms. _And this Maker fucking thing._

She hurled it across the room where it bounced against the wall and silently landed on the stone floor. She was never going to get over Anders if she kept sleeping on that thing every night. Maybe she would go to ask Senior Enchanter Leorah for a new one.

 _But what if Leorah wants evidence that the old one's been destroyed?_

She snatched the pillow from the floor and grasped both ends. The muscles of her biceps and forearms tightened as she began to yank the material in opposite directions. She wanted to destroy the thing, rip it into tiny pieces the way Anders had ripped apart her heart.

Just when the case began to give way, Solona stopped and fell back onto the bed. She couldn't do it. As much as she wanted to shred the Maker forsaken thing to bits, she could never cleave the memories of Anders from her mind. He was there with her, wherever she went. Always.

The mage heaved a long, forlorn sigh before tossing the pillow into the trunk next to her bed and kicking the lid shut. She would tell Leorah it got lost in the move, that it was completely destroyed by giant rats as she used it to fight them off and she was too frightened to gather the pieces. Maybe that would get enough of a laugh out of the cranky Enchanter to afford Solona a new one.

After reapplying her makeup in an effort to disguise the fact she had been crying, Solona walked out of her new quarters into the corridor. It was there that she found Jowan pacing back and forth with a worried scowl. She straightened her robes and donned the mask of indifference she had used so many times before to cover her true feelings.

"If you're not careful, your face is going to stick that way," she jested.

The apprehension in his green eyes as he turned to her gave Solona pause.

"I need your help," he told her, his voice quiet and desperate.

Her brow creased. "What's wrong, Jowan?"

He scanned the hallway. "Not here. Meet me in the chapel."

"Alright," she nodded.

Before she finished the gesture, her best friend was already headed down the hall, leaving Solona feeling dejected and dismissed. She had never seen him that way. Jowan had always been nervous and distracted, but this…this was different. There was a sadness to him, almost to the point of despondency. Her heart sank. As she watched the tail of his robes disappear around the curve of the corridor, she couldn't help but recall the first time they met.

When Solona arrived at the tower at the age of five, immediately upon meeting a seven year old Jowan, Irving ordered the two young apprentices to attend all their classes and eat all their meals together for the first week. The First Enchanter even went so far as to assign Solona the bunk beneath Jowan's in the children's dormitory. Over the following week, she grew very fond of the shy young boy and him of her. From that time forward, the two apprentices were best friends. They always told each other everything, which was why she knew he would never be so secretive unless her worst fears were coming to fruition.

Upon her arrival to the chapel, Solona crossed the marble floor to find Jowan by the small altar in the far left corner. Standing next to him was a short, homely girl with mousy brown hair wearing templar initiate's robes. The bridge of Solona's nose crinkled as the left side of her lips turned up into a sneer.

Jowan flashed a nervous smile. "Solona…I want you to meet…this is Lily."

"And?" the young mage prodded.

He exhaled a heavy breath. "Lily is the reason I've been sneaking out at night. We've been seeing each other in secret."

Solona's expression changed to one of boredom. "I realize you're shy, Jowan, but I honestly think you could do much better."

Lily huffed at the insult which caused Jowan to go into a full panic. "She didn't mean that, Lily. Solona was just joking. She's just like that."

Solona's lips curled into a smirk. "Yes, dear, it was only a joke. I'm sure you have a winning personality to make up for all that frumpiness."

Jowan's eyes glistened in the candlelight as he turned to his best friend. "Please, Solona," he implored. "Please stop. I love her. Can't you see that?"

Solona's eyes went from her friend to Lily and back again. She didn't understand what Jowan could possibly see in such a girl, but the helplessness in his green eyes caused her countenance to soften all the same. Still, there was something about that woman she just didn't trust.

The mage shrugged. "Sure, Jowan. If you say so," she relented. "So is that why I'm here? For you to profess your love for this…" She looked Lily up and down with a sour expression. "Girl?"

Lily's shoulders straightened. "Actually, Jowan and I would like to ask for your help."

"In what? Shouting it from the rooftops?" Solona snarked. "I'm afraid I'm not allowed outside just yet."

Jowan took Lily's hand into his. "No. We want to leave. To get out of the tower. The Chantry will never allow us to be together, but if we can escape…maybe we can find some place to go where they won't find us."

"Yes," Solona quipped, the fear and hurt inside her building. "Because that's worked so well for Anders all these years."

"Anders keeps getting captured because of his phylactery," Lily reasoned. "Every time he runs, Greagoir sends a message to Denerim to retrieve it. But Jowan is still an apprentice. His phylactery is here, in the basement. If we can get to it and destroy it, they'll never be able to find us."

They were actually serious. So serious, in fact, that they had obviously come up with a plan. Rage welled up in Solona's gut. It was really happening. She had her suspicions all day, but now she was forced to face the ugly truth. She was going to be alone, for the rest of her days, alone and discarded. Her mother had abandoned her when she was four. Anders had been trying to desert her for years. Now Jowan was going to leave her too.

The young mage's fingers balled into such tight fists her nails were digging into her palms. She blinked against the tears stinging her eyes. She glared at Lily. That cow was trying to steal her best friend, and Solona wasn't about to let that happen without a fight. She was going to rearrange Lily's loathsome face, punch her until no one would ever recognize her again, and there would be no healers available to help her. None that could undo the damage Solona was about to inflict anyway. The only two who would be able to it were either gone or locked in the dungeon. So what if it pissed Jowan off? He was leaving anyway. Obviously they were never as close as she thought.

She clenched her jaw and gritted her teeth. Her chest rose and fell with her labored breaths. Her lids narrowed as she glowered at the woman who wanted to take the only person left in her life for whom she truly cared.

Her lapis eyes moved to Jowan's reluctant ones as he silently begged her to at least listen. As much as she hated him at that moment, hated the both of them, she couldn't help but love him. Her anger began to dwindle, but didn't leave her entirely. She wasn't about to give in without some sort of fight, and she was damned if she was going to aid him in his ridiculous bid to leave her.

"So I'm supposed to risk my neck so you two can run away together? Why would I do this?"

Jowan gave her a sheepish grin. "For the knowledge that you made your best friend happy?" Her deepening glare prompted his face to contort into an anguished expression. "They're going to make me tranquil, Solona."

She sucked in a long, uneven breath. Not that again. "I thought we had gone over that already, Jowan."

He waggled his head. "No. I'm serious. Lily found the missive on Greagoir's desk. Irving approved the rite this morning."

"It's true," Lily confirmed. "I saw it with my own eyes."

"They'll take away everything," Jowan pleaded. "My hopes, my dreams, my love for Lily…you."

Solona's ire deflated completely as the words finally sank in. She pictured seeing her best friend wandering the corridors with the brand of the Tranquil tattooed into his brow. There would be no more nervous, twiddling fingers fumbling with the front of his robes as he questioned his every word before speaking. No more anguished expressions. No more self-deprecating. No more Jowan. He would be an empty shell, an animated corpse there only to do the templar's bidding. She sighed as she resolved herself to the fact that she had to help him. What else could she do? She was going to lose him either way.

The mage nodded dejectedly. "What do you need of me?"

As Lily laid out their plan, Solona got the nagging feeling that it was all going to go horribly wrong. It was like something a child would devise. She was to retrieve a rod of fire from the stockroom which would melt the locks to the apprentice's phylactery chamber. Then, Jowan would destroy his phylactery, and they would escape. It sounded simple enough, but Solona knew nothing was ever that easy.

Just as she predicted, not even an hour had passed before the three of them were faced with their first major obstacle. The door to the phylactery chamber was warded against all magic, leaving them to find to find a longer way around. Although she complained to her companions and made several snide remarks about their stupidity and poor planning, Solona found a silver lining in their error. It was a setback to be certain and would most likely lead to their capture, but it was also an opportunity. Perhaps something good would come out of it after all.

As they traversed the dungeons and storerooms leading to the repository, Solona made it a point to check every cell in the hopes to find Anders. Her guts were in knots each time she peeked through one of the small windows of the heavy wooden doors, knowing the healer could be behind any one of them. It had been a year. What would she say when she found him? What would he say? Would he apologize? Beg her forgiveness? Would she accept his words of contrition or tell him to go to the void?

In her heart, she knew she would forgive him. She always forgave him, no matter what he put her through. She had loved him from the first night they spent together, the night she gave him her virginity. No matter how many men she took to her bed, there was ever only room for one man in her heart.

When she finally found him, Solona's plan was to get him out, destroy Jowan's phylactery, then the four of them could escape the tower together. She knew that if anyone could get them out of there without detection, it would be Anders. They would find someplace to hide, at least for a while. Perhaps between the two of them, they could figure out a way to keep ahead of the templars. She and Anders would spend the remainder of their lives on the run, but at least they would be together.

She thought of the Grey Warden. Perhaps that was the solution. It would take days for word of their escape to reach Denerim. In the meantime, they could hide out along the road to Ostagar and watch for Duncan. Anders was the most talented healer she ever knew. The Warden would be a fool to reject him.

Solona would miss Jowan of course. The Wardens would never take him, but at least she and Anders would be together. It wasn't exactly freedom. Duncan had made that fact perfectly clear, but it was more liberty than she or Anders would ever have in the Circle. Maybe even enough to convince the healer to settle in and stop running.

Upon checking the last cell, Lily finally spoke up. "He's not here."

"Who?" Solona asked nonchalantly.

"Anders."

"What do you mean, he's not here? I know for a fact he was sentenced to the dungeons."

"Yes," Lily informed her. "The lower dungeons."

Solona's stomach sank. As far as she knew, no one alive in the tower, save maybe a few templars on patrol, had ever even seen the lower dungeons. The stories of mages who were sent there in ages past were horrific, however. It was said that anyone who had spent time in those cells was driven completely mad within a few months. Anders was put there for a year. How could Irving allow such a thing to happen to him?

The knowledge of the fate of the man she loved was almost more than Solona could bear. Would he ever be the same man? Would she even recognize him anymore?

She tried to open the door that led to that horrible place, but Jowan stopped her. "We have to go, Solona."

Tears flooded her eyes and streamed down her cheeks as she tried to figure out the locking mechanism. There was no way she would leave Anders now that she knew the horror that had befallen him. "I can't just leave him down there."

"Solona," Lily proffered. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Who gives two shits what you think, you stupid cow?" Solona hissed as she continued to rattle the door. She removed the rod of fire from the pouch at her waist and aimed it at the lock. She closed her eyes and allowed her mana to flow into the object. It twitched in her fingers, but there was resistance. It wasn't working.

"Stupid bloody thing is useless," she hissed before tossing it across the floor.

The young mage began to probe the wards surrounding the door. If she could discern which ones were used, perhaps there was a way to untangle them. She had to try. After a few moments, she felt her best friend's hand on her shoulder.

"Solona…If we stay any longer, we're going to be caught."

She jarred the door a few more times in frustration before slamming her fist into it. She placed her forehead against the wood and screamed in rage as more tears rained down her cheeks and onto the floor. She knew Jowan was right, but that knowledge didn't make the notion of leaving any easier. She dropped to her knees and pawed at the heavy wood as waves of choking, heart wrenching sobs poured from her.

"Solona, please," Jowan begged. "Somebody is going to hear you. We have to go."

She couldn't say anything, but simply acknowledged his words with a small nod. The racket she made had surely caught the attention of the templars. They would likely be there at any moment. It would do no good for them to get caught now.

"I'll be back for you, my love. I swear it," she whispered to the door.

With renewed determination, Solona rose from the ground. She wiped the tears from her eyes with the backs of her hands, straightened her shoulders, and breezed past her two companions. As she headed for the door of the repository she swore to herself that someday she would make good on that promise. She would ensure Anders' freedom, if it took her dying breath to do it.

Luckily, no guards found them before they reached the repository. Once inside, Solona located a crack in the wall that led to the phylactery chamber. After getting Jowan to help her move a bookcase that was doing a poor job hiding that flaw, she used an ancient Tevinter statue that would magnify her magic to blow a large hole in the stone. It only took a few minutes to locate Jowan's phylactery, which he promptly destroyed by dropping the vial.

Less than an hour later, the three of them emerged from the basement only to find Irving, Greagoir, and a half dozen templars waiting for them. It had been a trap all along. That was why no templars came. They had been waiting for them outside the entire time.

The Knight Commander stepped forward. "I guess I owe you an apology, Irving." He scrutinized Lily for a long moment. "The initiate seems shocked, but fully in control of her own mind." He turned to Solona with a sneer. "And you…I should have known you'd be a part of this given your previous associations with that healer."

"It's not her fault," Jowan yelled, the forcefulness of his words shocking his best friend. "This was my idea."

Irving waggled his head. "I'm very disappointed in you, Solona. How could you do this?"

Before she could respond, Greagoir lifted his hand to silence her. "Enough. As Knight Commander of the templars here assembled, I sentence this blood mage to death." He pointed to Solona. "Perhaps you and your boyfriend should become reacquainted. You will be taken to the lower dungeons where you will remain for the next six months. Maybe that will teach the both of you some respect for our rules."

"Greagoir," Irving attempted to intervene.

"Silence," the Knight Commander bellowed as he glowered at Lily. "As for you, girl, by conspiring with a blood mage, you have scorned both the Chantry and your vows. I sentence you to Aeonar, where you will remain for the rest of your days."

As the templars behind Irving began to approach Lily, she backed away toward the basement door. "The…the mages prison. No…please, no. Not there. I'll do anything, anything you ask."

"You will not touch her!" Jowan shouted as he drew a dagger from his belt.

Before Solona knew what was happening, her best friend plunged the blade into the palm of his hand, splattering blood everywhere. She gasped as the thick crimson liquid began to spray all around Jowan to form what appeared to be a tidal wave. He threw out his hands and a loud boom echoed throughout the room as everyone but he and Lily were toppled by the spell.

Lily and Jowan were talking. He seemed to be begging, but in her hazy state, Solona couldn't make out the words. The wind had been knocked out of her lungs and her head was spinning from bouncing against the cold stone floor. As she watched her best friend run past her toward the door leading out of the tower, she tried to call out to him, but just couldn't form the words. She put her pounding head back down to the ground and closed her eyes. She couldn't believe it. Jowan actually was a blood mage.

After another minute she finally managed to roll onto her side, then crawled over to check on Irving, who remained face down on the floor. Blood oozed from the top of his head, but he was still breathing. At least that was something. After a few moments, the old man propped himself up onto his hands and knees.

"Are you alright?" he winced with pain.

Solona pursed her lips. She was still in shock. She thought she knew everything about Jowan, but he had been keeping secrets from her, obviously for a long time. She thought everything that transpired that day were relatively new developments, but Jowan had apparently abandoned her long before he decided to leave the tower. She drew a long, ragged breath.

"Yes, I'm fine."

"And you, Greagoir?" the old man questioned. "How do you fare?"

"As good as can be expected considering the circumstances," Greagoir sneered. "If you had let me act sooner, this would have never happened. Now there's a blood mage on the loose and we've no way to track him down."

"I'm sure you'll think of something Knight Commander," Solona said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Look at it this way, you'll finally get to use that sword of yours on something other than mages in the grips of their Harrowing."

Greagoir rounded on her. "How dare you speak to me in such a manner? This is your fault. If it wasn't for you helping Jowan into the phylactery chamber, he would have no hope of evading us." He then circled on Jowan's girlfriend. "And you! You helped him."

"You forced his hand!" Solona interjected.

Lily bowed her head. "I can speak for myself," she told the young mage. "Knight-Commander…I…I was wrong. I should have never…I will accept whatever punishment you see fit. I deserve it. Even if that means I will spend the rest of my life in Aeonar."

"So that's it?" Solona asked incredulously. "Not an hour ago, you were professing your undying love for Jowan. Now you're just giving up? He revealed himself a blood mage to protect you and has made his life forfeit. Did his sacrifice really mean so little to you?"

"Blood magic is evil," she replied. "Therefore, Jowan is evil. He drew me in with his lies about love. It was stupid of me to ever trust a mage, any mage."

"You fucking bitch!" Solona bellowed as she lunged toward the other woman.

It was Lily's fault. The entire thing. Jowan would have never behaved the way he had if it wasn't for that heifer. She was the one who lured _him_ in, but she was going to pay, and pay dearly. Solona was going to tear every mousy brown hair out of that cow's head then feed them all to her.

It took two templars to finally wrestle Solona to the ground. As she struggled against her captors, screaming in rage, Greagoir pointed to Lily. "Get her out of my sight" he bellowed.

As they led the initiate away, the Knight Commander rounded on Solona. "Your antics and words have made a mockery of this Circle! I may not be able to punish Jowan for his crimes just yet, but your sentence will be carried out immediately."

The young mage stopped struggling and glared at the templar through narrowed lids defiantly. "Do whatever you want. I really don't give a damn. Jowan was my best friend and a good man. But you'll never see that will you? You were never going to see that. I'm glad he escaped. I only wish he would have taken your sorry ass in the process. "

Greagoir crouched on the floor next to Solona and lowered his face to hers. His lips curved into a wide grin. "You were best friends with a blood mage? I find it difficult to believe you didn't know. Maybe you're one as well."

"Prove it," Solona challenged.

He waggled his head. "I don't have to."

"Knight-Commander, if I may…" a familiar voice interrupted. Duncan approached the scene causing Greagoir to grimace up at him angrily. "I am not only looking for mages to join the king's army. I am also recruiting for the Grey Wardens. Irving spoke highly of this mage and I would like her to join the Warden ranks."

"Duncan," Irving reasoned. "This mage has assisted a maleficar and shown a complete lack of regard for the Circle's rules."

The Knight-Commander stood and raised his chin with an air of superiority. "Yes, she is a danger to us all."

The Warden gave a small smile to the young mage. "It is a rare person who risks all for a friend in need. I stand by my decision. I will recruit this mage."

"No!" Greagoir spat. "Absolutely not! I refuse to let this go unpunished!"

Although still on her knees with each of her arms being squeezed by templars, Solona's back stiffened and she held her head high. "If the Grey Wardens will have me, I will gladly go. Maybe they'll actually appreciate my talent."

"Greagoir, mages are needed," Duncan reasoned. "This mage is needed. Worse things plague this world than blood mages…you know that." He put a gentle hand to Solona's shoulder. "I take this young mage under my wing and bear all responsibility for her actions."

The Knight-Commander shook his head with disgust. "A blood mage escapes and his accomplice is not only unpunished, but is rewarded by becoming a Grey Warden. Are our rules nothing? Have we lost all authority over our mages? This does not bode well…for any of us."

"Greagoir, that's enough," Irving interjected quietly. "The Wardens retain the Right of Conscription by order of both the Chantry and the laws of Ferelden. We have no more say in this matter."

Solona saw the old man's eyes glistening as he stared at her. After so many years of working to gain it, she had lost his respect. Other than leaving Anders behind, it was her only regret. She felt a tug at her arm.

"Come," Duncan commanded. "Your new life awaits."

Without another word to Irving or Greagoir, Solona turned and followed Duncan out into the hall. He allowed her enough time to go to her room and gather her few things into a pack. She grabbed an extra set of robes and some toiletries along with a small, clay figure of a bird Jowan had made and given to her for a Satinalia gift when they were still children. It was Maker-awful. It hardly resembled a bird, but it still held great meaning for her.

As she strapped her pack to her shoulder, she heard someone lightly rap on the door. Solona looked up, expecting to see Duncan. Instead, her eyes met with Cullen's whiskey brown orbs. What in Andraste's name was he doing there? Did he intend to get a tumble in before she left? Was he really that desperate?

"So it's true," he whispered. "You're leaving."

"Yes," she confirmed.

"I heard what happened." He paused for a long moment as if trying to discern what he wanted to say. "Just tell me one thing…why? Why would you do something like that?"

She couldn't explain it, but something in those eyes compelled Solona to answer, to explain her actions. Her cold exterior softened in his gaze.

"He was my best friend and they were going to make him tranquil. I couldn't just stand by and let that happen."

"But he was a blood mage."

"I didn't know that, alright? I didn't even suspect it. I thought I was doing the right thing."

Cullen nodded then stepped closer to her. He cupped her chin with his fingers and lifted her face to gaze deep into her eyes. His own orbs flooded with tears. Actual tears that began to spill out onto his cheeks. There was no faking that. Was it possible? Did he actually have real feelings for her?

"I will never forget you, Solona," he whispered before tenderly pressing his lips to hers.

He pulled away and unclasped a silver chain from his neck before placing it around hers and refastening the catch. At the end of the chain dangled a small silver amulet with the templar symbol etched into its front. Those amulets were only given to templars at the end of their training. They were irreplaceable.

"This was given to me the day I gained my commission," he told her as he thumbed the tiny sword and flames. "I want you to keep it…to remember me."

She stared down at the metal charm for a long moment. Why would he give her something he worked so hard for, something so important to him? She peered up at him and what she saw caused her to gasp. She recognized heartbreak and loss. Two things she knew all too well.

"I love you, Solona," he confessed.

The sincerity of his words caused her knees to buckle. They were words she had been longing to hear since she was thirteen. Cullen, a templar, a man she barely knew, someone she had intended to use to get back at Anders, actually loved her. Her eyes began to sting and she blinked hard to stem the flow that threatened to seep from her lids.

He bent down once more and graced her cheek with a tender kiss. He hesitated only a moment before circling to head out of the room.

"Cullen," she quietly called after him. She had no clue what she was going to say if he actually turned around. She only knew she didn't want him to go.

He stopped and put his hand on the wooden frame of the door. His shoulders trembled with a deep, ragged breath, then slumped as his head bowed. He remained in the doorway for only a moment before walking out of her life forever.


	3. The Warden Prince

Dusk settled over the countryside. Lake Calenhad was alive with fish flopping to catch their supper within hues of deep violet and bright orange. In the center of the lake, on a small island between the two shores, stood a dark, high-reaching stone tower with a sharp, elongated spike protruding from its apex. Even from that distance in the failing light, anyone could see there were no windows. No exit or entry save a set of great double doors in the front.

Alistair sighed as he folded his arms over his broad, steel plated chest. It was a place he honestly hoped he would never have need to see again. He had only stepped foot through those doors once, but that one time was more than enough. He had been an initiate, a templar in training sent to Kinloch Hold to attend the Harrowing of a young female apprentice. Observing a Harrowing was one of the final steps to becoming a templar, and it was that event that prompted Alistair to decide the life of a Chantry knight was something he didn't want any part of.

The girl's name was Eva. According to her dossier, she was nineteen years old, the same age as Alistair at the time, and very talented in Spirit magic. The files described her as being sixty-four inches tall and one hundred forty pounds with black hair, brown eyes, and dark skin. She was sent to the Circle at the age of nine and was the only mage born to either side of her family in three generations. Her father was a smith by trade and she had one older brother. Her favorite color was green and her favorite food, vegetable stew. She was well-liked by her instructors as well as her fellow apprentices and was characterized as helpful, friendly, and kind-hearted.

Alistair studied the file every chance he got on the journey to the tower, ensuring that, by the time he and Ser Wesley arrived, he knew all there was to know about Eva. From everything he read, he was sure the girl would pass her Harrowing with flying colors. Being such an upstanding young apprentice, how could she not?

When the chimes of the large clock in the Harrowing Chamber rang in the hour, Eva entered the room wearing a lovely set of green robes. Alistair was genuinely surprised that she didn't look anything like he had pictured her. Her skin was a bit lighter than he imagined, and she had an hourglass figure with the greater part of her weight distributed at her breasts, hips and buttocks. She looked terrified, but tried to hide her apprehensions with a nervous smile that revealed a large gap between her two front teeth. Her nose and cheeks were peppered with dark freckles, making her appear much younger than her nineteen years. She was adorable and someone the young initiate wouldn't have minded becoming better acquainted with. As she lay there, lost in the Fade, Alistair even entertained the thought of befriending her if he were assigned to Kinloch Hold after gaining his commission.

Then it happened. Eva's entire body began shaking violently and her lids popped open to reveal inky blackness where her eyes had once been. Before the clock had time to click with the next second, the templar nearest her raised his greatsword high into the air and, with the full might of his weight, separated Eva's head from her body in a tremendous spray of blood. Instead of dropping into the metal bucket at the head of the table, the force of the blow had been so great that it sent the appendage flying across the room where it landed and rolled next to Alistair's right boot.

Alistair stared down into the dead eyes of the young woman, no longer ebony, but rich brown irises floating in a field of white. He held his breath, attempting to stem the tide of tears that threated to fall. It was then he realized he never knew anything about the apprentice. Her friends would soon mourn her as the templars who were gathered there went on about their day as if the world hadn't just lost one of its lovelier creatures.

 _Hey, initiate! Toss that over here so we can get rid of it with the body._

That's what the templar who dealt the killing blow said to him. As if Eva had been rubbish which needed to be taken out with the rest of the trash from the kitchens. Like she had been nothing and her life had been completely meaningless. Her favorite color had been green, the shade most likely the same as the robes she wore. He imagined she had donned her best that morning when she discovered she was finally able to take her Harrowing, never expecting it would ever be adorned in splatters of crimson.

When he went to bed that evening, lying atop one of the bunks in Kinloch's initiates' dormitory, Alistair wept for Eva. He thought of all the apprentices who came before her and met such a terrible and gruesome end. They had been people, just like him. The only difference was they possessed magic. Nightmares of the apprentice's lifeless eyes haunted the young warrior's dreams that night, and when he awoke at dawn he made the decision to leave the Order. He didn't care how Grand Cleric Marcine felt about it.

Unfortunately, he found leaving the templars a more difficult prospect than he imagined. Because he had been signed over to the monastery and the Grand Cleric's care when he was ten, he was bound to a life of servitude as repayment for the Chantry's benevolence. Marcine employed guilt to keep him there, but he insured everyone was made aware of his unhappiness through flippancy and poor attitude.

His way out finally presented itself when he was allowed to compete in a tournament in Denerim. The tourney was to be a grand affair with the winner receiving both accolades and a chance to be recruited by the Grey Wardens. Alistair had always heard that being a Warden was a dangerous profession, but he surmised that killing tainted creatures was a damned sight better than murdering innocent young mages. He thought he was sunk when he failed to make it into the final round of the tournament, but for some reason unfathomable to him, he was the one Warden Commander Duncan recruited in the end.

At first, the Grand Cleric refused to allow him to leave, but Duncan invoked the Grey Warden Right of Conscription. Marcine was left with no choice. By royal decree she was obliged to comply. It was the happiest day of Alistair's life, and he was grateful to Duncan every day after for saving him from the fate he seemed destined for.

"Any sign of him?" he heard Daveth ask as he took his place next to Alistair.

The former templar initiate waggled his head. "Not yet. I was really hoping to be the void away from here by now."

"I know," Daveth agreed. "That tower gives me the willies."

The young Warden tightened his arms in an effort to drive away the chill in his bones. "You and me both, man."

Alistair ran his tongue across his thick lips as he considered what to do. Should he go ahead and set up camp for the evening or wait for Duncan a little while longer? The light was fading fast, and he despised the thought of pitching tents and gathering wood for a fire in the dark. With the commander gone, Alistair was left in charge of taking care of the recruits and making the important decisions. It was a role he loathed. In his entire life, he had never been allowed to make any decisions for himself, let alone anyone else. He was no leader, and certainly didn't want to be the one responsible for the well-being of the two men Duncan left behind. Besides, Alistair wasn't completely sure he trusted either of the two recruits.

Daveth was a thief by trade, a career criminal whom Duncan conscripted in Denerim after the man cut the commander's purse strings. Duncan explained that it was because rogues were needed in the fight against the darkspawn, that their talents for stealth and chicanery were effective tools against the creatures. Alistair certainly understood the benefit for such skills, but Daveth wasn't exactly what the young warrior considered good at his profession, especially considering how many times he had been caught pickpocketing before that day. Daveth also wasn't the most inconspicuous character in Thedas. He was tall and lanky with dark hair, the kind of man that anyone who met him knew from the first the man was up to no good. He was a common street thug. Nothing more, but like Alistair, Duncan must have seen something more to the rogue.

The second of the recruits, Ser Jory, was a knight from Redcliffe who had served under Arl Eamon Guerrin. They were introduced to him at a tournament in Highever, where he emerged the victor of the melee. The short, barrel-chested man was likeable enough, but he always seemed too caught up in the accolades and glory he thought being a Grey Warden would bring him. He even left behind a pregnant wife to join the order, unaware that he would likely never see her again or meet his child. What Jory didn't seem to understand was being a Grey Warden meant sacrificing one's life for the greater good. Even if a recruit survived the Joining Ritual, which most didn't, they would never be free to pursue their own goals and interests again. The Grey Wardens was a lifetime commitment, and usually a thankless one at that. Alistair didn't mind that part so much. It wasn't as if anyone had ever been grateful for his being born.

The young Warden narrowed his lids, trying to discern any movement from the tower, but it had grown too dark to see that far. An icy blast of wind ruffled his sandy blonde hair and his hazel-green eyes began to water against the frigid Ferelden air. He used the back of his gloved hand to wipe away the fluids that threatened to drip from his half frozen nose and sniffled. The muscles of his scruffy jaw tightened when he licked his chapped lips as he concentrated on the island's dock.

Jory appeared on the Warden's other side. "Alistair, do you think we could at least go into that tavern over there and grab and ale while we wait? It's freezing out here."

"Yeah," Daveth put in. "My balls are so frozen, they've set up permanent residence in my ass. I'm pretty damned sure I'm going to be a woman if we don't get somewhere warm soon."

 _Great. Now they're complaining._

Alistair supposed he was out of choices. He had to make a decision. Would those two even listen to him? He shook his head with an exasperated breath. He really didn't want to do this.

"I don't know. I guess the first thing we should do is start gathering firewood."

Daveth scowled. "I'm with Ser Chunky. An ale sounds perfect."

The knight glowered at the thief. "How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that? I'm not fat, I'm just wearing a lot of padding beneath my armor."

The rogue harrumphed "Yeah, and cutting Duncan's purse strings was a complete accident. My knife just slipped."

"Okay, guys," Alistair said in an attempt to diffuse the situation before it turned into an all-out fight. "Don't you think we have bigger things to worry about right now? I know I'd rather not freeze to death. Duncan would find us here, bodies frozen to the ground. He'd have to pry us off the dirt with a paring knife. Nobody wants that."

Jory's face screwed up in a confused grimace and Daveth's stare made it clear that he considered his temporary leader a complete idiot. They were facial expressions which Alistair had become very accustomed to over the years. Because of his lame attempts at humor, especially when he was feeling overly nervous or reluctant to do something, most people thought him simple-minded.

 _Good job, Alistair. That worked brilliantly. Now they'll never take any orders from you._

He had to regroup somehow before they decided to go off on their own. Alistair knew going to the tavern was a horrible idea. Although there were some in Ferelden who respected the Wardens, most didn't trust anyone who wore the blue and grey. They were too secretive, too mysterious, and, worst of all, their appearance usually meant trouble was on the horizon.

The longer he stood there in silence under the weight of their stares, the more he lost his grip on the situation. Alistair had to find a way to convince the two men to listen to him. But how? Especially when he knew that he would have a difficult time obeying the orders of someone like himself. Mercifully, his inner turmoil was alleviated by Jory.

"Wait, I think I see something moving in the water," the knight announced.

Alistair peered out over the water. In the thick fog he could just make out a dim glow moving toward them. It was the small ferry boat used to transport visitors to the tower across the lake. It was Duncan. It had to be. There wasn't a device in existence that could have measured the young warrior's relief upon seeing that approaching light.

"Maybe _now_ we won't freeze," Daveth quipped, ensuring Alistair was fully aware of the thief's lack of faith in his ability to lead.

The jab stung for only a moment, but Alistair could hardly blame the man. If Duncan hadn't returned that evening, there was a good chance they would have all perished in the cold. Either that, or the younger Warden would have been left to explain to the commander the reason his two recruits were gone.

 _Thank the Maker for small favors,_ he mused as he headed toward the dock.

Along the way, he wondered how many mages Duncan had brought with him. The king sent word to Highever by raven that more were needed for battle. What would a company of the magically gifted say about having a former templar initiate in their midst? Perhaps a few of the Chantry knights were escorting the mages anyway, and it really didn't matter.

As the boat finally came into view, Alistair recognized Duncan, but instead of a group of mages, there seemed to be only one lone soul in the commander's company. A woman by the looks of it, thin with dark hair and large, bright eyes that reflected in the glow of the ferryman's lamp. She was young, maybe twenty at best, and if it hadn't been for the angry expression she wore, Alistair imagined she would have been absolutely stunning. He surmised that most mages would have been terrified at the prospect of leaving the safety of the Circle to go off and fight darkspawn, but not her. She seemed more frightening than frightened.

When the vessel finally landed and was tied to the pier, Duncan stood and hopped up onto the wooden platform. Once his feet were on solid ground, he held out his hand to help the young woman out of the craft. Instead of accepting the commander's offer for aid, the mage simply arced a brow, grabbed the nearest post and pulled herself up and out of the boat. A small smile crept across Duncan's face at the woman's tenacity. She was definitely no delicate flower.

The Warden Commander turned to address the men he had left behind. "Gentlemen, may I introduce Solona Amell, the Grey Warden's newest recruit."


	4. A Crack In The Ice

By the time Duncan found a place to make camp, it was well past suppertime, and the small forest on the north side of Lake Calenhad Docks was dark. Even the glow of the magical light in the mage's hand did little to penetrate the shadow. Alistair cursed under his breath when he tripped over the second stump since he and Solona were sent deeper into the glade for firewood. While the other three men pitched their tents, Alistair was made to gather wood as penance for not setting up camp before nightfall.

The young Warden wasn't really sure why Duncan sent the mage with him to complete the task, but she was certainly no help at all. She made no effort to gather branches or twigs. She didn't even attempt to keep up with Alistair so he could see. She just walked along behind him, holding the orb in such a way that _she_ wouldn't stumble in the darkness.

 _At least she's not complaining,_ he told himself in an effort to find some redeeming quality in the woman. Sure, she was beautiful, but from what he had seen so far, that beauty didn't permeate her alabaster skin. Since joining them only an hour or so before, the mage hadn't said a word to anyone. Even Duncan she only gave a small nod of acknowledgement to when he gave her the order to follow Alistair into the grove. He would have given his left nut to have Daveth standing out there holding a torch instead of putting up with Solona's frosty countenance.

As he was stooped over to pick up a pile of twigs, Alistair heard rustling in the nearby trees ahead. Whatever it was, it was large. He knew great bears were prominent in that part of Ferelden, and he certainly didn't want to take the chance of needing to fight one in the dark. So, instead of drawing attention to himself by telling the mage to douse her light, he simply used his templar abilities to interrupt the flow of her mana.

There was a sharp gasp from behind, followed by dead silence. The warrior concentrated on his forward area, but heard nothing. He knew it wasn't his imagination. There had definitely been something, and he was positive it hadn't moved on yet. The Warden nearly jumped from his skin when he heard Solona's harsh whisper in his right ear.

"Why didn't you mention you were a ruddy templar?" she demanded.

He licked his lips before he placed an index finger across them then used it to point at the thicket of trees ahead. She remained quiet and still for only a few moments before waggling her head and turning her right palm out toward the place which Alistair had indicated.

Almost immediately the sound of broken branches and something heavy landing among dead leaves echoed in the coppice. Alistair held his breath awaiting the backlash of the ruckus, but there was nothing. Solona called the glowing orb back into her palm and moved toward the place her spell had hit while the former initiate stayed where he was.

After examining her victim, she turned her face to him, her brow arced with annoyance. "Is this what you were so afraid of? A little deer?"

Alistair made his way to her side and inspected the animal. It was a deer alright, a buck with at least twelve points to its rack, not exactly what he would have called a _little_ deer. He shrugged.

"I thought it may have been a bear."

She scowled. "Can't you tell the difference?"

"Not in the dark," he retorted. His tone was a bit harsher than he intended, but she was being unreasonably critical. "I heard a noise and it sounded like something big. It could have been a bear. How in the void was I supposed to know?"

The mage folded her arms across her chest. The expression she wore was one of bored impatience as she sucked her teeth at him. "I thought perhaps you were one of those men who feels he needs to prove his manliness by killing innocent creatures. You certainly look the part."

Alistair's brow furrowed in confusion. What in the bloody void was that supposed to mean? The two of them hadn't said a word to each other before he heard the deer making noise. He wondered if it was because she thought he was a templar. She was a Circle mage after all, and had been dealing with templars for a good number of years. Perhaps she was basing her assumptions on that.

"Look," he explained. "I'm not a templar. Alright? I was an initiate. I never got around to the part where I took my vows."

She shrugged. "I didn't say that because you were a templar. I said it because you appear to be a man of limited intelligence who has to prove his worth with less scholarly pursuits."

Alistair's lids fluttered as he considered her words. She just called him an idiot, in a very long winded manner, but she definitely called him an idiot. In the monastery, he had been taught to respect women, that they were the more delicate sex and therefore should be treated with kindness and tolerance. Solona, however, was beginning to push the limits of Alistair's patience.

"I'm sorry," she said after waiting only a few seconds for his reply. "Were the words I used too complicated for you? Do you need me to interpret them in simpler terms?"

"No," he huffed. "I got what you were saying…loud and clear."

"Good," she retorted. "Perhaps you're not as dense as I imagined."

The Warden inhaled a deep breath. Like most people, she thought he was a simpleton. She had known him only a few hours and already dismissed him as a fool. Maybe she was right. Maybe they all were. His agitation waned.

"Duncan's probably wondering where we are. Maybe we should head back to camp now."

She gave him a condescending, tight-lipped smile. "Sure. Whatever you say, Alistair."

He looked down at the body of the animal and grimaced. "So what should we do with this thing? I really don't want to have to drag it all the way back, but I feel bad just leaving it here to rot."

"It's not dead," the mage informed him.

"But the spell…"

"I appreciate that you think I have the power to kill anything with a single spell," she retorted. "But I know of no mage who could accomplish such a thing." He stared at her blankly, waiting for her to continue her explanation. "Don't they teach templars anything about magic except how to negate it?" When he didn't answer what he assumed was her rhetorical question, she rolled her eyes. "It was a sleep spell. I put the beast to sleep."

"Oh…alright."

"Look," she seethed. "I'm very cold and I'm very tired, and quite frankly, I don't want to talk to you anymore. Now, can we please get back to camp before I have to light you on fire for some semblance of warmth? I'm sure you would make lovely kindling, but I'm afraid the smell would be more than I could stand."

Alistair pursed his lips, flourished a slight bow, and gestured for her to lead the way. She stomped forward a few paces, then turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. "By the way, if you _ever_ negate one of my spells again, you _won't_ live to regret it."

He gave a heavy, perturbed sigh then followed her to where the wood he had gathered earlier lay and scooped it up into his arms. Once his burden was secure, the two silently made their way back to the clearing where the others were waiting. The young Warden dumped his bundle next to a shallow hole someone had dug and began arranging the logs and kindling inside the pit. Once he was satisfied with the placement of the firewood, he used the flint and steel kit he kept in a pouch at his waist along with a good amount of dried grass to light it. Within moments, a flame roared to life.

"Thank the Maker," Jory said as he moved closer to the fire. "I was afraid we'd freeze before you returned."

"Sorry it took so long," Alistair apologized. "We ran into some trouble."

He waited for Solona to argue, to tell the others the truth, but she just stood there quietly warming her hands and staring into the blaze. At first, he was relieved she kept his secret, but upon closer observation, he realized she probably didn't hear the exchange.

As haughty and aloof as she had been up to that point, Alistair recognized something else in her as she studied the flame engulfing the wood he had collected. There was sorrow in her lapis blue eyes, a sadness unlike he had ever seen in anyone before. She was suffering from real emotional pain. Pain she attempted to hide with apathy and arrogance.

After a time, Solona's gaze finally turned to meet his, and he realized he must have been watching her intently when her whole countenance shifted. Her poignant expression changed to one of outrage as if he had uncovered a secret she never intended to reveal. Her nostrils flared and her lips curled into a sneer. She glared at him through narrowed lids for several moments before spinning on her heel and marching toward the area where the tents were erected and found her neatly rolled up shelter and sleep sack.

He stood by the fire for a time, observing her struggle with the large piece of canvas and the six poles of varying lengths. When she finally got so frustrated that she chucked one of the poles at Jory and Daveth's tent and caused it to collapse, Alistair decided it was probably time to offer his aid. He strode over to where she was trying to make sense of the canvas itself and emitting a string of curses under her breath.

"Need a hand?" he asked.

She turned her back to him and continued fussing with the large piece of material. "I've got it."

He stepped closer and put a hand to her shoulder. "Come on, just let me..."

The mage rounded on him with glistening eyes and tear stained cheeks. "I said I've got it," she hissed through gritted teeth. "Now leave me the fuck alone."

Alistair threw up his hands and backed away. "Sorry," he relented. "I was just trying to help." She returned to her task, but in her frustration, she was just making it worse. "Are you alright?" he pressed. "Would you like to talk about it?"

"Of course I don't want to talk about it," she seethed. "Especially not to someone like you."

Her shoulders lifted and fell with each heavy breath as her body trembled, and Alistair couldn't tell if she was sobbing or furious. Perhaps both. He circled to walk away. With her maltreatment of him, he knew he should, but he just couldn't help but feel sorry for her.

Wordlessly, he retrieved the scattered poles from the ground and put them together. Then, without waiting for her permission, he took the fastening straps from her fingers and began to tie them together. He expected she would snatch them from him, but she didn't. She just stood there in quiet observation. Once he was finished with that task, he straightened the corners of the canvas and folded it in preparation for the poles. Solona never met his eyes the entire time he maneuvered his way around the collapsed shelter, but she seemed more embarrassed than angry.

When the task was finally completed, Alistair moved to her side and placed his hands on his hips. He peered over at her from the corner of his eye. She straightened her robes and cleared her throat.

"Thank you," she said in a crisp tone.

"I take it you've never set up a tent before."

She scowled. "Of course I haven't. I've not stepped foot outside the tower since I was five."

Alistair was genuinely surprised by her admission. He was aware that some among the magically gifted were discovered at younger ages, but five? To be torn away from everyone she knew at such a tender age, it was no wonder she was so defensive.

"I'm sorry," he proffered.

Her brow arched haughtily, donning her mask of emotional aegis once again. "Don't be. I neither need nor want your pity."

"It wasn't about pity," he attempted to explain. "It's just that…well I just thought…" He waggled his head, vexed that he didn't know how to talk to the woman. "Never mind." He pointed to the larger of the poles he had assembled. "Grab that." She did as he commanded, and he threaded it through a long opening across the right edge of the canvas. "Now the other two."

After she passed one to him, he pushed the long spike at the end of it into the small hole in the ridge pole. "Now do the same to the other side."

She obeyed his order without argument and took the rod to the opposite edge. "Like this?" she asked as she buried the spike into the longer pole.

"Exactly," he told her with the hint of a smile. "Alright, in that small bag over there, you'll find some metal spikes and a hammer. Use the hammer to drive the stakes through the grommets at the four corners."

Solona worked quickly, burying each stake into the ground in turn. With the force she used to wield that hammer, Alistair knew she was taking out some of her fury and frustration on those spikes. He wondered what could have happened to her to fill her with so much rage and asperity at such a young age. Sure, she was a mage stuck in the Circle since she was five, that alone would be enough to make some people angry, but he couldn't help but believe there was something more to it than that. Much more.

When she was finished with the stakes, Alistair crouched once again and took hold of the leg pole in the front. He didn't need to say a word to Solona. She simply followed his lead by grabbing the other. He gave a terse nod, and the two of them lifted the poles upright and buried them into the ground almost simultaneously.

Alistair stood and dusted off his hands. "There. All set."

Solona brushed the dirt from the bottom of her robes then wiped her own hands clean. There was not even a hint of a smile, but Alistair thought he recognized a semblance of gratitude among all the darker emotions swirling within those lapis eyes. When she spoke, however, her tone retained its usual indifference.

"I appreciate your aid."

"No problem." He flashed a lopsided, boyish grin. "I hope you were paying close attention. Next time I expect you to do this all on your own."

It was a joke of course. He would have helped her anytime she needed, but the narrowing of her eyes told him he said the exact wrong thing. She glared at him for what felt like an eternity. His face grew hot in the frigid night air, and he swore he felt beads of perspiration forming along his hairline. Just when he was getting ready to call on his templar abilities to protect himself from the spell he was certain she was about to throw at him, her face took on a contemptuous expression. She crossed her arms over her chest and rested her weight on her right hip and leg.

"In case you've already forgotten," she began, her voice dripping with sarcasm and ice. "I never asked for your help. You volunteered your services and time without any prompt from me. The only reason I allowed you to aid me was because I realized I probably demoralized you earlier with my words and injured your male pride. I know how those of your sex can feel inferior if they are demeaned by a woman. Therefore, I felt the need for atonement. I determined that you must have _some_ redeeming quality, and, judging by your muscle mass and limited intelligence, I concluded that you are probably better suited for manual labor. My only hope is that I have now made up for my earlier transgressions."

Alistair wanted to lash out at her for the insult. He wanted to scream at her, tell her what a bitch she was, but he just stood there staring into her eyes. Once again, he recognized the things she was attempting to hide-the pain, the anger…the fear. He placed his hand over his heart and pouted.

"Your words wound me, dear lady. Just look at me, my pride bleeding onto the ground." He feigned a sniffle and wiped the corner of his dry eyes with his gloved fingertips. "I'll never be the same again." He held out his fingers for her observation. "See? Tears. Real, manly tears. You made me cry. Now aren't you ashamed?"

Solona tried to hide it, but Alistair caught the hint of a smile on her lips. She rolled her eyes, but her countenance had softened.

"You're a ruddy fool," she told him. "You know that, don't you?"

He shrugged. "I tried to get a job as a court jester in a nobleman's house once, but I was told I was overqualified."

A small chuckle escaped her mouth, which she attempted to cover by clenching her lips between her teeth. He wasn't sure they would ever be friends, but he was grateful for the fact that he had managed to put a small crack in that icy shell of hers. No matter how miniscule, at least it was progress.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, trying to maintain the momentum. "Because if you are, we have a lovely selection of hardtack and dried pork."

She wrinkled her nose. "That sounds utterly unappetizing."

"No, it's great," he argued. "And the tack is multifunctional. You can either eat it or use it in a slingshot to pick off bandits. The stuff I had yesterday could have knocked an ogre down at a hundred paces." He rubbed his hand across his midsection. "Settled in my stomach like a brick though. I don't think I'll be able to shit for at least a week."

Then it happened. She laughed. Not a giggle or a chortle, but a true, unhindered laugh. For the first time since he met her, Alistair realized how beautiful the woman really was. For that fleeting moment, she was free of her emotional turmoil and actually let herself go. Perhaps having her there wouldn't be as much of a challenge as he had imagined. Maybe they could actually learn to get along… _if_ she managed to survive the Joining.

With Solona in a better mood, Alistair suggested they return to the fire to get warm, but in the few steps it took to get back to the center of camp, the mage's mood shifted once again, and she reverted to her haughty guise. After settling herself onto a fallen log someone had pulled next to the firepit, she stared silently into the flames while Alistair rifled through his pack to find enough food for them both. Before he had the chance to retrieve the wrapped tack bread from the bottom of his sack, Duncan approached Solona with a small bundle of cloth that was tied with heavy string.

"These are your provisions," he told her. "I take it I don't need to remind you to use them sparingly. We don't tend to stop in many villages in our travels, and that will need to last you at least a week."

"Of course," she replied with a bow of her head.

"There is a village south of here between Kinloch and Lothering called Wenborne where we will replenish our supplies. While there, we can purchase more suitable attire for you if you wish."

Solona frowned. "In other words, less conspicuous attire."

The Warden commander chuckled. "Irving said you were bright. Yes, I think that would be best. Grey Wardens aren't exactly welcome most places. We tend to make people uneasy. An obvious mage in their presence may only add to that disquiet."

"I will do whatever is required of me," she conceded. "Besides, these robes are a requirement of the Circle. Now that I am no longer bound by that life, I think I should prefer to wear _more suitable_ attire."

Alistair couldn't help but wonder what the mage had in mind. Although he had seen women in armor before, he just couldn't imagine Solona sporting scale mail or chain. Perhaps leather? It could work, but he didn't think it would ever suit her. If she survived her Joining, she would be given a set of Grey Warden armor designed specifically for mages. _That_ he could see her in.

She placed her bundle of rations on the ground in front of her and carefully began to untie the twine with delicate fingers. Once unbound, she unfolded the cloth and inspected its contents. After a heavy sigh, she turned to Duncan.

"Commander, may I speak to you?" She scanned the faces of the other men sitting around the fire. "Privately."

"Of course," he replied with a nod.

Solona stood and Duncan led her into the tree line, leaving Alistair to wonder if their conversation was to be about him. Perhaps she was going to ask the commander that she not be stuck with the younger Warden again. He felt a twinge of sadness at that.

 _You're reading too much into this, Alistair. It's not about you. She probably hasn't even given you a second thought._

Somehow, that didn't make him feel any better. It actually made things worse. Why in the Maker's name did he care so much anyway? A slight smile curled the left corner of his lips as he remembered Solona's laughter, and he immediately knew why. Making her laugh, that was probably the best thing he had ever done in the whole of his miserable existence. His entire world brightened with that sound coupled with the jovial expression on her face. Was it love? He seriously doubted it. After all, they had nothing in common, and she obviously had zero respect for him. It was more to do with the fact that it gave him a sense of accomplishment. He managed to do something he suspected no one else had done in a very long time.

"So, what do you think?" Jory questioned, interrupting Alistair's rumination.

"About what?" the young Warden asked.

"Our newest arrival," the knight explained.

"I think she's a complete and utter bitch," Daveth put in. "Did you see the way she looked at me when Duncan introduced us? Like I was something nasty she had to scrape off the bottom of her boot?"

"She does seem a bit…snobbish," Jory agreed.

Alistair shrugged. "I don't know. She's not _that_ bad."

The thief chuckled. "I think there's a story there. What were the two of you doing out in those woods for so long?" He stood and began making a rude gesture with his hips. "Did you bend her over a stump and give it to her in the ass?"

The former initiate waggled his head, mortified by the insinuation. "No. Of course not."

Daveth retook his seat. "But you want to, don't you?" He jabbed Alistair's side with a bony elbow. "Come on. Admit it. You want to fuck that until you make her squeal like a nug."

"Have some respect, Daveth," Jory chided. "She's a lady and a fellow recruit. You shouldn't talk about her in such a manner."

"Why should I respect her?" the thief questioned. "She didn't show anybody else any. There's only one way to deal with bitches like that. Shove a cock in their asses."

Alistair glared at the taller man. His right hand formed a fist as he prepared to shove it in the thief's face. Solona certainly was a bitch, but Daveth was nothing but a piece of shit thug who needed to be taught some manners. Alistair knew the man would never have the guts to say such things in Solona's presence, and since she wasn't there to defend her honor, Alistair intended to do it for her. Before he got the chance, however, Solona and Duncan had returned.

Solona immediately gathered her things into a bundle and marched toward her tent. As she passed, she glanced in Alistair's direction and he recognized glistening in her lapis eyes. Something in her exchange with the commander had upset her tremendously. He wanted to follow her, find out what was going on, but his cowardice won out in the end.

"See," Daveth said as he chucked a twig into the fire. "I could straighten that out in five minutes."

"Grow up," Alistair hissed as he gave the man a small shove to the shoulder and got up to head to his own tent.

"If you think all it takes is five minutes," he heard Jory proclaim as he walked away. "I feel sorry for any woman who ends up in _your_ bed."

As agitated as the young Warden was, he couldn't help but give a chuckle upon hearing the knight's jab. When Alistair became overly upset, he found it much more difficult to formulate a good comeback. He was just glad someone was able to put the thief in his place. Maybe Jory wasn't so bad after all.

Alistair planned to go straight to his own tent, but couldn't resist stopping outside Solona's shelter. He reached out his hand to tap the canvas to inform her of his presence, but withdrew it at the last second, recalling the expression she wore as she breezed past him earlier. He barely knew the mage, but he had spent enough time with her to realize she wasn't the type of person who wanted anyone to see her in such a vulnerable state. So, instead, he chose to stand there and simply listen.

He knew it was wrong, a complete invasion of her privacy, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. Unsure if it was curiosity or compassion that drove his actions, he strained his ears to discern what was happening inside. He could have sworn he detected the sound of muffled sobbing, but it was so hard to tell over the heated argument that had broken out between Jory and Daveth nearby. Could it be? Was the hardnosed ice princess actually weeping?

A pang of guilt began to gnaw at Alistair's gut. If she realized he was there, she would have been furious. He needed to let her have her cry in peace, away from his prying ears, just the way he knew she would want it. He wished there was something he could do to help her, but she would never tolerate his sympathy. Although it went against his nature, he would leave her be, for now.

His brow furrowed with a forlorn expression as he stepped away from her tent and moved on to his own. After tying the flap shut and getting undressed, Alistair settled down into his bedroll. He placed his hands behind his head and studied the top of the canvas as it rippled against the frigid wind.

Once again, he recalled Solona's laughter, the smile on her face. She had been happy, at least for one single, solitary moment in time. Daveth had been correct in calling her a bitch. She most certainly was, but Alistair got the feeling her terrible attitude was her way of keeping everyone at a distance, to prevent them from seeing who she really was. He understood her. He was guilty of the same thing, but instead of aloofness and malice, he disguised his identity with general goofiness, irresponsibility and humor.

The former initiate closed his eyes, praying that sleep would overtake him soon, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get his mind off Solona. She had treated him terribly, but, at the same time, he had never connected with anyone the way he had her. He would try again tomorrow, and every day afterward to return that smile to her face. Until either the Joining took her or the Calling. But it wasn't love. That much he knew for certain.

* * *

Solona could have sworn someone had been standing outside her tent. After thoroughly drying her eyes, she peeked out between the tie flaps but saw nothing other than Alistair disappearing into his own shelter. It surely hadn't been him.

 _It was just your imagination, Solona._

On the other hand, he had to have noticed that she was on the verge of tears when she passed him on her way to her tent. Maybe he thought to come ask her what was wrong. It's exactly what Jowan would have done.

 _He's not Jowan, stupid._

Solona missed her best friend. She wondered where he was at that moment. She only hoped his spell and her argument with Greagoir had bought him enough time to get away. The biggest part of her was still angry with him for what he did, for not telling her the truth from the beginning, but the part that loved him…that part of her understood. He was bound for a fate worse than death. If he had told her, she might have shared the punishment the Knight Commander had in store for him. Instead, she was to become a Grey Warden, free of the Circle and all its inane rules. Free of the ever-present guards and limitations. Free of the heartache that lurked around every corner. Free of…

 _Anders._

Just when Solona thought her eyes completely dry of every tear that could be shed for the night, they began anew. The man she loved more than her own life, yet simultaneously despised, was trapped. She tried. Maker knows she tried to convince Duncan to go back and rescue the man she loved. She explained what a great asset he would be, how the Wardens could benefit from both his knowledge and magical talent, but the commander denied her request. He said he wouldn't chance overusing the Right of Conscription, that it could lead to the Wardens being banished from Ferelden again. Even when she pleaded with him, he refused.

 _I'm sorry, but the answer is no._

He gave her no chance for rebuttal, no opportunity to try to convince him further. He simply walked away from her. She had pinned all her hopes of rescuing Anders on Duncan, and her faith had been squandered. She returned to her bedroll, lay down, and turned over onto her right side.

 _You should have known better. Haven't you learned yet that you can't trust anyone?_

The mage allowed her tears to flow freely onto the small pillow which felt little better than a rock beneath her head. The pillow. She had left the tower and forgot that damned pillow. After Cullen's visit to her room, it slipped her mind completely.

Cullen. With his soulful brown eyes and his warm smile greeting her every morning. She closed her lids only to see his face, his eyes staring into hers. Her mind recalled the last words he said as she thumbed the tiny sword and flames etched into the amulet nestled between her breasts.

 _I love you, Solona._

They were words she had wanted to hear for so long, but not from him. She wanted Anders to say those words to her, to mean them. She exhaled a long, uneven breath. Now he never would. There was no chance. No hope. He was gone…forever.

The mage rotated onto her back and gazed up at the line made by the ridge pole. No, she wouldn't accept it. She made a promise, and she intended to keep it or go to the void trying. She would survive this Blight, and when it was over, she would go back to that damned tower and conscript him herself if she had to. Even if she managed to somehow get over him, even if she ever got to the point where she no longer felt love for him, she would rescue Anders.

Solona heard shuffling outside her tent. The others must have finally decided to go to bed.

 _At least they've stopped arguing._

She had no idea what they had been fighting about earlier. She really didn't care. She only knew they were being overly loud about the whole thing. That must have been why Alistair retired to his tent early. A smile crept across her face. She couldn't help it. She didn't know why, but somehow, in those few hours, the man was beginning to grow on her.

At first, she thought him a complete fool, but there was just something about him. She couldn't quite explain it, but something in those hazel eyes told her there was more to him than he allowed those around him to see. Something deeper, more meaningful.

In a lot of ways, he reminded her of Jowan, goofy and self-deprecating, but less nervous. He showed her kindness, even after she had been so horrid to him. Unlike Cullen, there were no puppy eyes filled with what he perceived as love, no fire of lust the she had seen in the eyes of so many others, just simple unadulterated thoughtfulness and decency.

Solona was unsure what it was she was feeling in regards to the former templar initiate. Perhaps, in time, they could actually become friends. She wouldn't make it easy for him, however. He would have to prove his worthiness with loyalty. She wouldn't settle for less. But it wasn't love. _That_ was something it could never be.


	5. The Imprisoned Healer

Anders muttered potions formulas under his breath as he rocked back and forth against the frigid stone wall of his cell. The quiet sound of his own voice echoed back from the blackness surrounding him. Had it finally happened? Had he finally plunged off the deep end completely?

Sometime before…was it hours? Days? Weeks ago? It was so difficult to tell...he could have sworn he heard the sound of Solona's cries penetrate the void of his prison. He had thought to jump from the pile of filthy straw on which he lay and call back to her. Instead, he closed his eyes to will the noise away. It wasn't real. It couldn't have been. Deep down, he knew it was only the longing for her in his heart and the madness creeping into his head come to finally take over what little sanity he had managed to maintain.

A dim light shone from around the corner announcing the impending arrival of the templars. Anders dropped onto his side and closed his eyes to feign sleep. Maybe the Chantry soldiers would only deliver his food this time. His body hadn't yet healed from their last visit, and as frail as his bones had become since he had been imprisoned, he wasn't sure they could take another session from the templars so soon.

The straw beneath him moved as the mice attempted to scurry away from the approaching light. The number of vermin seemed to be increasing since the cat disappeared the last time the guards visited. The healer moved his large left foot away from a sharp piece of hay cutting into it and winced when he felt a small nip on his heel.

The sound of jangling keys and the lock of his cell's door clunking open compelled him to open one eye. Two templars accompanied by the Knight Commander and the First Enchanter entered the dungeon chamber. They stared down at him as he lay naked on his pile of straw. Anders chose to ignore the intrusion by rolling onto his side to face the wall in silence.

He didn't know why they were there. He didn't care to know. Since Greagoir and Irving were present, he assumed the templars didn't intend to dole out the usual beating. It didn't matter. He had no intention of speaking to anyone but himself until he was let out of that cell.

A year. That was his sentence for his last escape. A year in the cold, stinking dungeon with no contact with anyone aside from his templar jailors and the cat, Mr. Wiggums. He had no bed other than the straw, which had only been changed twice since his imprisonment. The blanket they gave him was no better than a large tattered rag which barely covered the trunk of his overly tall frame. There was no privy other than the floor of his chamber. The closest he came to a bath happened once every few weeks when his guards would enter his cell, beat him, and then douse him with cold water. Then, occasionally, when the odor became too overwhelming to enter the corridor, someone would sweep out the piles of excrement.

Quite often he would go hungry. The templars sometimes went days without feeding him, and when they did, they dumped spoiled food onto the floor so he would be forced to lap it up like a mabari hound. He couldn't count the amount of times he was driven to lick the moisture from the dungeon walls for water and eat the lichen growing there for nourishment.

Normally, the mage would have simply used a small ice spell and let it melt for water, but the manacles on his wrists and the wards in the dungeon rendered his magic completely infirm. That was also why his body was riddled with bruises and cuts. Although he was more than proficient with healing magic, his prison blocked him from his ability to heal himself. At least the templars were kind enough most days to hit him in places where no permanent damage could be done and no bones would be broken.

It wasn't as if he weren't accustomed to be being beaten. His father had been a cruel man with a volatile temper, especially when he was drunk, and he was nearly always drunk. Too many times during the twelve years spent with his parents, the young boy had felt his sire's wrath.

Unlike the templars, Wilhelm never pulled his punches, and Anders had suffered many fractured bones as a child. When the local physician would visit upon his mother's request and examine the boy's injuries, his father would simply make a joke about how clumsy "the little bastard" was. Then, when the physician would leave, both the boy and his mother would be subject to the old man's ire. It was a horrific childhood, to be certain, but it was also more than likely the only reason the man was able to hold onto some semblance of sanity for so long in that stinking dungeon.

"Anders," the healer heard the First Enchanter say with a grating, crotchety voice. "We need to ask you some questions. About Jowan."

The younger mage continued to lay in silence. He knew very little about Jowan other than the fact that he was a wholly untalented apprentice and Solona's best friend. Anders had spoken to the boy a few times over the years, but Jowan never said a word back. He wasn't going to tell Irving that, of course. He had no intention of telling Irving a Maker-damned thing.

It was Irving was who sentenced him, the one who locked him away. He wasn't sure how long he had been imprisoned, but by the growth of his long, bushy beard, he assumed the year was almost over. In all that time, through all the abuse and maltreatment, the First Enchanter had not even bothered to visit him once.

Anders hated that old bastard. Irving didn't care about the things the healer was being made to endure. The First Enchanter was supposed to be the one who looked out for the mages in the tower. Instead, he was a Chantry puppet, no better than the templars. Actually, he was worse because he pretended to give a damn when it was so obvious he didn't.

The imprisoned mage felt a boot land on the small of his back.

"Show some respect you worthless, filthy piece of shit," one of the templars growled.

"There is no need for such abuse, Lieutenant" Irving insisted.

A bitter chuckle escaped the healer's lips as hot tears stung his amber eyes. He wanted to scream at the old man. to wrap his hands around the bastard's throat and choke what was left of his life out of him. Instead, he continued to lie there, as still and mute as a stone.

"He's not going to talk, Irving" the Knight Commander huffed. "This is a waste of time."

Irving crouched down next to the younger man. "Anders, you still have three weeks left on your sentence. However, if you agree to an interview, with full disclosure, you will be allowed to leave the dungeons today…right now."

After a few moments, the healer finally nodded before rolling over onto his back. Those were the words he had been waiting for. Irving stood and held out his hand for the other mage.

"I've got it," the blonde man croaked before struggling to pull himself up to his full height.

Even stooped a bit from the pain that wracked his body, at six and a half feet tall, Anders still towered over everyone else in the room. He pulled the greasy, matted strands of his long, dark blonde curls from his eyes and tucked them behind his ears. His nostrils flared as he attempted to display some sort of defiant dignity. The First Enchanter placed the raggedy blanket over the healer's shoulders to help cover his nudity, but the younger mage just shrugged it off. If anyone were going to see him in that condition, he wanted them to bear witness to the ordeal he had been made to suffer…to behold the full weight of Irving's _leniency_.

"Do you really think this is a good idea, Irving?" Greagoir questioned.

"It is only three weeks, Greagoir. I think the boy has suffered enough."

"Fine," the Knight Commander spat. "I will allow it, but under protest. You're too soft for your own good, Irving."

Anders bowed his head and sucked in a hard breath through gritted teeth. He had to keep his cool. He couldn't let any of them see his anger or frustration.

"You're concern is noted, Greagoir," Irving retorted in a passive aggressive tone.

"We could interview him here," the Knight Commander suggested.

The First Enchanter waggled his head. "No, I made a promise in exchange for his. I think the first order of business is a warm bath and some food."

"It'll take a week to get the stink off him. We don't have that kind of time. Every minute we waste puts more distance between the maleficar and the tower."

"A few hours won't make much difference, Greagoir. The boy can barely stand. He'll have a much easier time answering our questions if he's conscious."

"Just hurry up and do whatever it is you're going to do," fumed the Knight Commander. "I'll meet you in your office."

Once Greagoir had cleared the room, the two templars took Anders by the arm and led him from the cell and up into the main corridor. As the blonde mage was marched naked through the hall, the frantic whispers of those around him only fueled his contumacy. He held his head high, making a conscious effort to not reveal the pain he felt.

Irving ordered the manacles removed from the prisoner's wrists before shutting him in the apprentices' bathing room. There, he found two tubs next to each other filled with warm water. He slipped into the one farthest from the door and watched the water blacken as the filth began to dissolve from his body. Every inch of his skin stung from the water permeating hundreds of tiny pricks made from the dry straw on which he had slept. As he spread the cake of soap over his emaciated arms, he called forth his mana to help ease the pain of the cuts and the other wounds he sustained in the dungeons. Even under ideal circumstances, it was difficult for healers to cure their own ailments, but the trickle of mana helped, if only a little. He'd talk to Wynne later about the actual healing. Until then, he was satisfied with the minuscule amount of relief.

After washing his hair in the mucky liquid, the mage moved on to the second tub. The water within greyed, but at least it was cleaner than the first. Once again, he gave his entire body a thorough scrubbing before leaning back to close his eyes. For the first time in nearly a year, he actually felt human.

As he lay there, enjoying the warmth of his bath, Anders thoughts turned to Solona. Where was she? He scanned the gathered crowd for her as he was being led to the bathing room, but he never caught sight of her. At the same time, as much as he'd hoped to see her face, part of him was glad she hadn't witnessed him in that state. He wanted to be at his best before he saw her again, at least the best he could hope for after spending nearly a year in that hole.

The healer had known the apprentice for many years, since he was twenty-four and she was thirteen. They were intimate the first time they met, but he had no clue of her age. She had lied to him about it, in fact. At first, he was angry with her when he discovered the truth, but she used her wiles and her hands to convince him that she was definitely not a child. He knew it was wrong, but he found he had no self-control when it came to her.

Despite her young age, Anders grew to love Solona, but deep down, a part of him resented her for it. For his entire life, he had felt trapped, forced to do things he never wanted. Solona's persistence in pursuing a relationship with him always seemed another example of him never being allowed to make his own choices. It wasn't until the day he discovered his lover, Karl Thekla, had been transferred to the Gallows in Kirkwall that the healer finally gave in.

Upon his fifth escape attempt, the First Enchanter convinced the healer his efforts were fruitless because the templars would always be able to use his phylactery to track him down. He was also told he risked tranquility if it happened again, and Irving wouldn't be able to stop it the next time.

It was then that he turned to Karl. The two had been best friends since their early teens, and they had been sexually involved for years. Anders supposed he loved Karl, in his own way. More than that, Karl never made demands for the healer's time or tried to turn their relationship into more than it was. Karl was safe. Safer than the alternative anyway.

Not five months later, the healer woke one morning to find Karl gone. No one knew what happened to him. Anders was frantic. When he finally stormed into the First Enchanter's office demanding answers, Irving informed him that Karl had been transferred to Kirkwall on the Knight Commander's insistence as punishment for the healer's escape attempts.

Upon hearing those words, the normally easygoing mage lost all control and began throwing books and furniture around the room before blasting Irving's potion shelves with ice and setting fire to the rubbish bin. It took four templars to subdue him by knocking him unconscious. When he finally awoke in one of the empty mage's dormitories, he found himself chained to a bed with manacles to repress his mana.

Distraught by the fact that Karl was moved to the worst Circle in all of Thedas, Anders turned to Solona. That was when he finally gave in and began to really allow her into his heart. He wanted to tell her how he felt hundreds of times, but chose to hold back. He told himself it was because feared she would be taken from him as well, but deep down, he knew better.

For the next few months, he tried to convey his feelings by at least placing a soft kiss on her cheek and whispering, "Hello, love" in her ear each time he saw her in the corridors. Immediately afterward, however, he would seek out another woman to flirt with, convincing himself it was only to prevent the templars from becoming suspicious of the true nature of his and Solona's relationship.

Then Anders received a letter from Karl, smuggled out of the Gallows and into the tower through servants outlining the conditions of Kirkwall's Circle, and it was much worse than he ever imagined it to be. He didn't know how he would do it, but somehow, he had to get Karl out of that bloody hole. It was his fault Karl was there, after all. He had to do something.

He should have told Solona what he was planning, he should have offered to take her with him, but something inside wouldn't allow it. He reasoned that with her phylactery right there in the tower, they would be more easily caught, that she would be safer within the walls of Kinloch Hold. Part of him was also afraid she might try to convince him to stay. She was the only one who could.

In the end, he chose to run. It was a terrible choice. He didn't want to hurt Solona, but he had to rescue Karl. He only hoped she would understand.

In that year of being tortured and abused, Anders finally realized he was out of options. He knew his last escape attempt would be the last. He would spend the remainder of his days within the confines of the tower, and nothing or no one could ever change that. They had finally broken his spirit, but at least he retained his mind. The only thing that got Anders through that time was the fact that Solona would be there when he was released. She would be angry with him for the way he left, but he knew she would forgive him in the end. She always did.

When the water began to grow tepid, he finally removed himself from the tub and dried his body with one of the towels which lay on a small, spindly-legged table against the wall. Anders moved onto the ewer and basin where he used a pair of scissors to cut away the long beard that had evolved during his year in the dungeons. A straight razor and soap finished the job, leaving him clean-shaven for the first time in nearly a decade.

Staring at his reflection in the mirror, his face twisted into a scowl. Deep, dark circles surrounding his eyes complemented hollow cheeks and thin, cracked lips. He hardly recognized the person staring back at him, a skeletal shell of the man he once was. After raking bony fingers through the damp curls at his shoulders, he bound them together at the nape of his neck then retrieved the scissors to hack through all but three inches past the leather strap.

After donning the mage's robes that were left for him, the healer emerged from the bathing room only to find his two templar jailors waiting for him. As much as he hated all the templars in the tower, those two were the worst. The shorter, stockier one named Rolan had been the worst of his torturers. He always hit the hardest and laughed the most. The other one, Cullen, the healer despised for a very different reason.

Cullen had only been at the tower three months before Anders' last escape attempt. Within days of his arrival, the templar managed to become completely obsessed with Solona. The apprentice never seemed to pay much attention to the soldier, but Anders sure as hell noticed the younger man always skulking around, and it was quite obvious he had more on his mind than pinning her against a wall. Although the healer never revealed his true feelings for Solona, was never entirely sure himself, her heart still belonged to him. There was no room in her life for a love-stricken Chantry lapdog.

"I appreciate your concern for my well-being, gentlemen," he drawled. "But I think I can find Irving's office on my own."

"The Knight Commander ordered us to escort you," Rolan barked.

"A personal escort?" the mage snarked. "For me? And here I didn't get him anything."

"The First Enchanter says we have to take you to the dining hall for food first," Rolan retorted as he shoved Anders toward the door. "I think he should just let your skinny ass starve. It wouldn't take more than a day or two."

"But then whose ass would you dream about tonight?" the healer asked with a wink and a saucy smirk.

Rolan landed a hard punch to Anders' jaw. "Dream about that tonight, princess."

Maker's ass, he hated being called that. It was the moniker his father had given him the first time the old man made the boy suck his cock. The chasm of rage buried in the pit of his stomach threatened to erupt, but he wasn't about to let Rolan have the satisfaction of seeing that his words and actions had bothered him.

Anders closed his eyes as he cracked his fractured jaw. He allowed mana to flow through his fingers to fuse the bone as best he could before grinning at his adversary again. "Truth hurts, does it?"

"I'll show you hurting," Rolan roared as he made to hit the mage again, but his fist was stopped in midair by Cullen.

"Come on Rolan. If anybody catches you, you'll go on report again."

Rolan straightened his armor. "You're right. This fucking princess isn't even worth my time."

Anders' smile widened as he motioned to the door. "After you, sweetheart."

Once he was finished with his meal, the healer was taken to the First Enchanter's office where both Irving and Greagoir were waiting. Irving gestured toward the chair sitting in front of his desk.

"Please, sit."

"I'd rather stand, if it's all the same to you."

Greagoir appeared as if he were about to say something, but Irving's hand on his arm stopped him. The First Enchanter sat down and steepled his index fingers beneath his chin.

"Anders, as I said before, we need to ask you a few questions about Jowan."

The younger mage arched a cavalier brow. "I don't know why you're asking me. That friend of his…Solona, I think is her name…she would know more about him than I would."

Irving's brow furrowed. Anders could see both sympathy and worry behind the old man's tired brown eyes. Something was wrong. Very wrong. He could feel it in his bones. He drew a deep, ragged breath and closed his eyes, bracing himself to hear the words he knew were going to break his heart.

"Anders," the First Enchanter croaked. "Solona is gone."


	6. The Gift

Alistair hoped to find the opportunity to speak to Solona the morning they left the forest near Lake Calenhad Docks, but it never presented itself. While the men sat around what was left of the campfire eating breakfast, she took her meal in her tent. He had intended to help her break down her shelter once he was finished with his own, but by the time he had gotten to her, she was already packed and ready to go. She was efficient, he had to give her that. When he did eventually approach her as they were about to leave, her expression told him she had absolutely no interest in idle chatter, so he backed off.

When Duncan finally announced it was time to move out, the mage took the lead without anyone prompting her. It had been Alistair's duty to be in that position, but she seemed more comfortable there. The commander didn't seem to care one way or the other, so the young warrior didn't argue. Besides, he really didn't mind following someone else for a change. Of course, if he were to sense any darkspawn in the area or if they were ever in any real danger, he would take the role of second in command. But he didn't see a need as long as they were just trekking along down the road.

Nothing really changed over the following few days. They would wake just before dawn, eat a quick breakfast before packing up then travel until dusk only to make camp again. Solona pretty much kept to herself that whole time. Alistair knew the journey couldn't have been easy for the mage, but she never complained, not even once. Daveth, on the other hand, bellyached enough for all five of them.

By the end of the fourth day, the young warrior noticed Solona's gait had changed. Although she still walked with her usual determination, her strides had become a bit slower. She appeared to put more effort into each step.

When Jory sped up to pass her, Alistair stopped him with a hand to the knight's chest and a waggle of his head. The woman was clearly in physical pain, and he wouldn't allow anyone to cause her embarrassment over it. Because of her struggles, she would be the one to set the pace for the entire group.

By the time they came to the village of Wenborne on the seventh day, Solona was hobbling. After speaking to one of the village guards, Duncan marched to the front of the procession and led them all to a small shop near the center of town. The store held a meager stock of the usual fare-travel rations, a shelf lined with small jars of herbs and sweets, a modest selection of fishing gear and farming tools, larder staples, a few bolts of linen and wool, and a paltry selection of clothing and boots in only the most popular sizes. The only thing wearable in the entire shop that looked like it was made for a woman was a pair of silk stockings, and they were outrageously priced.

When the merchant appeared from the back room, he immediately seemed wary of the five strangers who had darkened his door, but he still managed a tight-lipped smile when he asked the commander if he could help him. Duncan indicated to Solona with a small nod of his head.

"Yes, I am looking for some clothing for the young lady and a pair of sturdy traveling boots."

The merchant waggled his head. "I'm sorry, ser, but I don't get much call for women's clothes. Most here in Wenborne make their own. I might have some boots, though." He reached into the cabinet beneath the bar he was standing behind. "Just let me get my cord so I can measure the young lady's foot." He pulled out a short piece of rope with knots tied throughout its length then addressed Solona directly. "I'll need you to remove those boots if I'm to get an accurate measurement though."

The mage bobbed her head in response and reached down to pull off her boots. She winced with pain as her left foot slid out of the poorly stitched leather. A slight gasp escaped Alistair's lips when he saw the abundant crimson stains on her wool stocking. It was no wonder she had been hobbling, he was surprised she could even walk with her feet in that condition.

The shopkeeper grimaced at the sight and took a step back when Solona stuck her foot forward for him to measure. No one said a word as the mage's face began to take on a reddish hue. Alistair couldn't tell if she was mortified or angry. Either way, he wasn't about to let her just sit there and suffer like that.

He approached her and dropped to his knees at her side before unburdening the pack from his shoulders and addressing the merchant.

"Ser, could I trouble you for a basin of water?" the young Warden asked.

"Of course," the man nodded. His sour expression had softened to one of pity. "Right away."

While the proprietor was fetching the water, Alistair attempted to peel away the exposed stocking. Solona sucked in a quick breath through gritted teeth and jerked her foot away.

"Leave me alone," she demanded. "I'm fine."

He scowled at her. "Look, I appreciate the fact that you're trying to be all brave and tough and independent, but if you don't let me help you now, I'm just going to end up carrying you all over the place later. I'll throw my back out, then we'll both need to be carried around everywhere. Pretty soon, we'll all be crippled and then we'll never get to Ostagar. Nobody wants that."

Solona rolled her eyes. "Alright, fine. But if you hurt me, I'll shove my foot up your ass."

"Well, that seems counterproductive," he joked. "Not only would that make it hurt worse, but you'd probably end up with a nasty infection. I haven't bathed in over a week."

She wrinkled her nose with disgust and shook her head. "There's something seriously wrong with you. You know that, don't you?"

He shrugged as he gingerly stripped off the stocking. "People keep saying that. I don't see it, but what do I know?"

The mage cringed from the pain, but she didn't pull away again. Alistair gagged a bit when some of Solona's skin came off with the sock as he peeled it from her foot, but he managed to maintain his constitution. He repeated the process with her left foot, which was just as bad as the right.

He wanted to cry for her. It looked as if several blisters had formed on her heels and the balls of her feet and then popped and reformed several times over. He couldn't even fathom the agony she must have experienced, but she never complained. Not even once.

"Dear sweet Andraste," Jory exclaimed. "It looks like they've been put through a meat grinder."

Those words must have struck a chord with Daveth because he slapped his hand over his mouth and ran for the door. He hadn't even cleared the exit completely before the sounds of his heaving began echoing through the shop. Alistair did his best to ignore the thief and pulled a clean shirt and a small pouch of healing herbs from his pack.

He tore the garment into strips before dropping a few elfroot leaves into the basin of water the shopkeeper had delivered. Slowly, carefully, the young Warden lowered Solona's left foot toward the large bowl. He took a deep breath and ran his tongue across his lips.

"This is going to sting a bit," he told her.

She sucked in a hard breath, bracing herself for the pain she knew was about to befall her. "Just do it."

The mage gasped, her face twisting in agony as her foot was immersed in the cool liquid. Alistair wiped it clean as quickly and gently as he could. Solona's chest and shoulders heaved up and down with her panting. The warrior peered up at her with a sympathetic smile only to see tears streaming down her cheeks.

Duncan handed her a potion vial. "Drink this. It will help with the pain."

Without questioning the contents of the bottle, the mage opened her mouth and gulped down the pale green liquid. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand and her face contorted in revulsion. Scraping her tongue across her lips and teeth, she spat to the side in attempt to rid the foul taste in her mouth.

"That may be the most vile thing I have ever tasted in my life," she complained. "Did you add one of Alistair's socks for extra flavoring when you mixed that potion?"

The commander produced a thoughtful frown. "That was actually given to me by Irving. He told me his finest healer made it for him some time ago."

Solona shook her head. "Figures," she harrumphed. "One of Anders' pranks."

"I take it you know the perpetrator of this joke?" Alistair questioned as he began to wrap her feet with dry segments of cloth.

"I don't want to talk about it," she huffed with a scowl.

There was apparently a story there. From the expression Solona wore, he gathered that it was an extremely unpleasant one. He recognized that look. It was the same one she bore more often than not. The one that prevented him from speaking to her most of the time. Was this Anders the reason she was so bitter and angry?

When Alistair was finished bandaging the mage's feet a few moments later, he gave the side of her calf a gentle pat. "There. All done."

"Thank you," she mumbled with an anguished expression.

He acknowledged her gesture with a reflective smile and a small nod. Alistair knew full well the face she made was due to the fact that she felt obligated to say those words to him. It was something she was obviously not prone to do often, if at all, and he wasn't about to make a big deal out of it.

"Just relax for a few minutes while the merchant takes your measurement," he told her. He turned his eyes to the shopkeeper with a glower of warning. "I'm sure he'll be extra careful in the task."

The man bobbed his head, his countenance showing that he fully understood the meaning behind Alistair's glare. "Of course, ser. She'll hardly notice a thing."

As the proprietor worked on measuring the mage's feet, Alistair went to the shelf where the scant supply of medical kits were housed. He chose one which contained only strips of cloth for bandaging and a small jar of healing salve. It was exactly what Solona would need and, as luck would have it, the least expensive kit there. The price of it wouldn't have been so important if it weren't for the other thing he intended to purchase.

The young Warden placed the medical kit on the front counter then checked the meager contents of his coin purse.

 _Just enough._

After dumping his coin onto the counter, Alistair grabbed the items he wanted before making his way back to Solona. He shoved the medical supplies into his pack and handed her a rolled up bundle of silk.

"Here," he said. "I thought you could use these."

She unfurled the delicate ball to reveal a pair of well-made silk stockings. Her brow arched questioningly. Damn, he hadn't even thought about what that gift might imply. He ran his hand through his sandy-blonde hair and nervously licked his lips.

"It…it's not what you think," he stammered. "They're to protect your feet…after the bandages come off. You wear them under your regular stockings and they keep the wool from rubbing your skin raw."

She shrugged her shoulders then rolled the hose back into a tight ball, seemingly satisfied with his explanation. She didn't thank him, but she didn't need to. It was enough that his gift would keep her from getting into that situation again. It took every last copper he had, but it was definitely worth it. Alistair believed that no one should ever be made to suffer through such an affliction.

Before they left the shop, Duncan purchased Solona a pair of good, sturdy walking boots, a couple of pairs of men's trousers, two linen shirts, a belt, new wool stockings, and a traveling cloak. Afterward, the five of them headed to a rundown but relatively clean inn near the outskirts of the village where they were treated to a hot meal of lamb and pea stew with freshly baked bread and a pint of ale each.

Alistair declined the hunk of cheese that came standard with the fare in favor of another piece of bread with fresh honey butter. He never really liked cheese. In fact, it came in second only to blueberries as his least favorite food.

After they were finished with their supper, Duncan rented two rooms and paid for each of them to have a bath. The four men shared quarters while Solona got her own. Out of courtesy, the men agreed to allow the mage use the bathing room first, then they took turns in order of their rank. Daveth was less than happy about the fact that he had to go last, and made it a point to make his displeasure of the situation known.

While Duncan was bathing, Alistair went to Solona's room and offered to change her bandages, but she declined his aid.

"I may not be skilled in healing magic," she informed him with her usual haughtiness. "But I think I am capable enough to wrap my own feet in some cloth."

He handed her the small jar of salve he had purchased. "At least use this. It will help."

She rolled her eyes and snatched it from him. "Fine. If it will get you off my back."

The Warden expected her to slam the door in his face, but she just continued to stand there looking up at him, her lapis eyes half hidden under a cascade of damp fringe. Solona's makeup, which she apparently had to apply every morning no matter what she was planning to do for the day, had all been washed from her face and her dark, wet hair fell loosely across her shoulders. Her natural beauty was absolutely breathtaking.

She glowered at him. "What? Are you expecting a kiss for all your good deeds?"

He shrugged and flashed a boyish smirk. "Alright, it's up to you, but I wouldn't kiss me until after I've had a bath. My own eyes are beginning to water from the smell."

She cocked a brow and waggled her head. "There is most definitely something wrong with you."

He waved his hand in front of his nose. "I think I already mentioned the stench. Careful you don't get too close. I'd hate to try to explain to Duncan the reason for your untimely demise."

She gave a small chuckle as she reached for the door and stepped back into her room. "Goodnight, Alistair," she told him before shutting herself in for the evening.

He knew she thought him a fool, but at least he got her to smile again. That small change in her expression, her attitude, no matter how temporary, was most certainly worth it. They were only a week away from Ostagar, and Alistair had the feeling that her rare smiles were about become even fewer and farther between.

* * *

Three days out of Wenborne, Solona was walking normally again. Between the new boots, the bandages, the healing potions and the salve, her feet were nearly completely healed and she was leading the group at a faster pace than ever. She knew she should have thanked Alistair properly, but her pride wouldn't allow it. Instead, she spent that entire leg of their journey avoiding the young Warden.

When they stopped to make camp that evening, Duncan cautioned them all to be on the lookout for darkspawn stragglers since they were nearing Ostagar and the bulk of the horde. He warned Alistair to be especially mindful while he and Solona were gathering wood for the fire in the nearby forest. Solona was less than happy about being sent on the errand with Alistair, but she didn't let her reservations be known.

While she recovered from her injuries, the commander sent Daveth and Jory out with a glowstone to complete that task. She supposed it was only fair that she help with the labor now that she was recovered, but why did it have to be with Alistair? It wasn't that she didn't like him or that she wasn't grateful for all the help he had given her. Her biggest problem with the young warrior was that he had this way of looking past all her bullshit, her carefully crafted façade of cold indifference. No matter what she did or said, no matter how badly she treated him, he was still kind, with no expectation of gratitude or reward. She had never met anyone like him before and it frightened her a bit.

Unlike the previous time they had to perform that same task, Solona made sure to stay close to Alistair so he could see what he was doing by the magical light in her palm. The entire time they combed the forest, she braced herself for the conversation she knew he would start at any moment, but he remained silent. In fact, he hadn't spoken to her at all since the night they stayed in Wenborne. Was he angry that she never offered him her gratitude? Perhaps he wasn't as different as she thought after all.

By the time they got back to camp, the mage was in a foul mood. She was actually angry that Alistair hadn't talked to her. She couldn't believe he had the gall to just ignore her in that manner. How dare he?

Solona waited for the fire to be started then stomped off to her tent to eat her supper of hardtack and dried pork alone as usual. Nobody followed her or asked her to join them. None of them cared about her, but, then again, why would they? She had certainly done her best to ostracize everyone since joining the small band of Grey Wardens and their recruits.

She wondered if it was going to be that way from then on. In the tower, even when Anders wasn't around, even when she was without companionship from anyone else, she still had Jowan. There was always _someone_ there for her. Now, it seemed she had no one. Was she simply destined to be alone for the remainder of her life?

The mage took a few nibbles of the tack before wrapping it back in its cloth and returning it to her pack. As ravenous as she had been when they made camp, she found that her appetite had suddenly left her entirely. Nausea had replaced hunger as tears began to well up in her eyes.

The mage lay down on her side and closed her eyes to shut out the rest of the world and to stop the flow of tears that threatened to fall. An image of the man she left behind in the tower appeared in the darkness of her closed lids. She pictured his warm amber eyes, his rakish grin, and the way the mass of his curls draped over his shoulders.

 _Anders._

No. She couldn't think about him. It was too painful. Solona waggled her head to shake her memories of the healer away. She had to think of something else, anything else. She concentrated, willing the thoughts of her former lover from her mind.

Her fingers gripped the amulet nestled between her breasts. She rubbed the flat of her thumb over the tiny sword and flames, and her senses began to calm. The picture of Anders was replaced by Cullen's gentle brown eyes staring adoringly into hers. His lips curved into an affectionate smile as he reached out to caress her cheek with thick, calloused fingers.

She must have drifted off then, because she remembered nothing until she was awoken by the sound of her tent rustling all around her.

"Solona," she heard Alistair's frantic whisper. "Solona! Wake up! It's the darkspawn. We're about to be attacked."

The mage scrambled to her feet with the aid of her staff lying next to her. Fortunately, because she had gone to sleep before she had intended, she was still wearing her boots. She rushed from the tent with stave in hand, ready to do battle.

Alistair was waiting nearby, just outside the glow of the fire. She approached his position and stood next to him. It was then that she noticed Duncan and the other two men a few feet away. The commander gave the younger Warden a nod.

"You know what to do Alistair," he said as he tossed a couple of empty vials to the young man. "They are going to attack us either way, so we may as well use it to our advantage. I'll take Jory with me to the other side of the camp. You and the others clear out this side of the forest. By my estimation, there are six of them. Do your best to protect your charges, but make sure each of them kills at least one of the beasts themselves. And make sure you collect the samples we'll need."

Alistair clapped a fist to his heart. "Of course, Commander."

The younger Warden dropped the small bottles into a pouch at his waist before pulling his sword from its sheath. He ran his tongue across his lips and indicated to the direction of the forest with the tip of his blade.

"Over there," he whispered. "Solona, you stay to my left and a little behind. Daveth, you're on my right. Move quickly and quietly and keep your eyes open. These things will show no mercy, so when we find them, give them everything you've got."

"Wouldn't it be better to take them by surprise?" Daveth questioned. "Use a little stealth?"

"As a Warden, I might be able to surprise them," Alistair explained. "But they'll smell you coming from a mile away."

"He is rather ripe, isn't he?" Solona said as she waved her hand in front of her nose and grimaced.

"Your shit isn't exactly fresh there, sweetheart," the thief retorted.

As the mage glared at the man, Alistair stepped between them and waggled his head. "Hello? Darkspawn. Remember? Maybe we should take care of that problem first. Before the two of you come to blows."

Daveth pulled the iron daggers from his belt and brandished them at his sides. "Whatever you say, boss." He made a rude gesture with his tongue at Solona. "I'll take care of you later, beautiful."

Solona arched a haughty brow. "I would rather fuck myself with Alistair's sword than allow you to lay one finger on me."

"That sounds like fun," Daveth retaliated. "Can I watch?"

Alistair, who had apparently had enough of the thief's behavior, shoved Daveth forward with his shield. "Just get moving, asshole," he ordered.

Daveth stumbled forward then sneered at Alistair and Solona over his shoulder. Without waiting for the other two to catch up, the thief made his way around the tents and into the tree line. Just as the mage and the Warden were about to step into the glade, a tremendous roar echoed through the woods.

"Holy fuck," Alistair swore before grabbing Solona around the waist and pulling her to the ground.

A second later, Daveth's body went hurtling through the air right where the mage had been standing and landed with a thud on the ground behind them. The sound of twigs and branches being broken by heavy footfalls snapped just yards ahead of them.

"Come on," Alistair hissed. He dropped his shield and grabbed her by the hand to pull her behind a nearby boulder.

"Aren't you going to need that?" she questioned in a whisper once they were safely behind the large rock.

His eyes narrowed as they fixated on the spot from where the noise had come. "Maybe not." His brow creased, but his eyes remained settled on the tree line. "Do you remember what you did to that deer back at Lake Calenhad?"

"Of course," she replied. "The sleeping spell."

"Can you do that to more than one thing at a time?"

"It will take a bit more concentration, but I believe I can," she said. "But they have to be close together."

"Okay," he told her. "Ready your spell. As soon as I tell you, release it."

Solona bobbed her head in response and began calling forth her mana. She knew it was possible for the spell to affect more than one enemy at a time in theory, but she had never actually tested it before. She focused on the incantation she needed as the branches of the nearby trees began to rustle and give way to whatever was attempting to clear a path through them.

The mage gasped when she saw the first creature lurch into the clearing. Although much shorter than a man, the thing was monstrous. The creature's skin reflected pale yellow in the moonlight, and its large ears came to points at the side of its head like an elf's. The thing seemed to wear a permanent wicked grin full of razor sharp teeth upon its skeletal face. The one-handed, double-bladed battle axe it carried was fashioned from heavy iron and crudely made, most likely forged within the Deep Roads.

Solona panicked. She could feel her hold on the sleeping spell slipping away. The beast was a genlock. She knew it from the books she had read about the darkspawn in the First Enchanter's private library. The crude drawings in those texts could have never prepared her for how grotesque the creatures actually were. Very little had been written about those particular spawn, but one thing the mage knew for certain was that her spells would have little to no effect on them.

She felt a hand shaking her arm. She turned her head to look at the source and met Alistair's hazel green eyes. "Are you alright?" he asked in a low voice. "You're as white as a sheet."

"I…I can't," she mumbled.

He cupped her chin in his fingertips. "What happened to that confident, overbearing mage I've come to know and love? Hmm?" Her eyes began to sting with tears as he held her gaze. "Don't worry. I'll take care of the genlock. You just concentrate on taking out his two buddies. Alright?"

Solona peered over at the squat darkspawn out of the corner of her eye. Standing near it were two hurlocks. As hideous as the genlock had been, it was nothing compared to its taller counterparts. They looked like men, dead men who had been transformed and twisted by something horrifying and evil.

Alistair gently tugged her face to garner her attention again. "Come on, you're not about to let _me_ show you up are you?" The space between her brows disappeared as she continued to stare into those hazel eyes. "Hey, you've got this."

She nodded as she pulled away from the grasp of his fingers. While genlocks were well known for being resistant to magic, hurlocks were not. He was right. She could definitely do this. She closed her lids and called on her mana again as her hands lifted to the level of her shoulders. The sounds of the darkspawn's grunting and the clashing of the hurlocks' swords against their shields disappeared as she focused on the incantation running through her mind. With one long, slow, exhaling breath, she opened her eyes and released the spell into the air surrounding the creatures.

The larger two beasts collapsed to the ground, leaving the shortest of the three to scan his surroundings to find the source of the spell. About the time it caught sight of the two humans hiding nearby, Alistair leapt up and cleared the boulder with a single, fluid motion.

He rushed toward the creature, grabbing his shield as he ran by it. Using the entire weight of his body, the warrior crashed into the genlock and knocked it to the ground. Before it could pick itself up from the dirt, Alistair's sword was in the air. He plunged it into the beast's gullet and gave a quick twist of the grip. Within a flash, he repeated the process with the hurlock to his right before waving Solona over.

She rushed to his side only to have him shove his longsword into her hand. "You get the last one," he panted.

The mage waggled her head as she looked down at the weapon in her hand. "What in the Maker's name am I supposed to do with this?"

He aimed his index finger at the sword. "Well, you take the pointy end of that." He then directed her attention to the sleeping creature on the ground. "And you stick it into that. Might I suggest you find an area not covered in armor? That shit tends to really dull my blade."

Solona stood over the beast, intending to plunge the sword into its throat, but the weapon was a bit heavier and more awkward than she imagined. Instead of landing in the center of the hurlock's neck, the blade veered upward and went through the middle of its face, right where its nose should have been.

Its eyes flew open and it let out a guttural cry as it struggled against the sword buried in its skull. Solona focused her mana and allowed a bolt of lightning to move from her hand, down the sword, and into the hole she had created. The beast thrashed and jerked as electricity surged through its body. Smoke and the stench of rotting, burning meat rose up from the creature as it gurgled its final breath. When the smell hit Solona's nose, she released the handle of the blade, turned her head and vomited.

"You alright?" Alistair questioned, his words muffled by the hand over his nose and mouth.

The mage managed a nod before heaving again. She wiped away the vomit on her chin with the back of her hand then covered her nose with her forearm. The smell was revolting, but she wasn't sure if the churning in her gut was from that or from the fact that she had killed the creature. Although the thing was a monstrous beast that she knew couldn't be allowed to live, the fact that she had taken a life weighed heavily on her mind. She had never killed anything before, and for some unfathomable reason, it really bothered her.

"It gets easier," Alistair told her. "The first one is always the most difficult." His scowl deepened. "Interesting smell you created, by the way."

"Sorry," she mumbled against her sleeve.

"We should probably find Duncan," the warrior proposed. "He might need our help."

"Yes," Solona agreed. "The sooner we get away from here, the better."

Alistair yanked his sword free from the creature, swiped both sides of his blade across its arm and drove it into the scabbard at his waist. He then spun on the balls of his feet and started to head back toward camp, but stopped in mid stride and snapped his fingers.

"Damn!" he cursed as he reached into the small pouch on his belt and pulled out the vials the commander had given him earlier. "Almost forgot."

He knelt down next to the hurlock Solona had dispatched and scooped up some of the dark blood that had escaped from its nostrils and was still in its original liquid form. "I hope it's enough. You fried this thing pretty good."

The mage tilted her head, her expression thoughtful and questioning. "Why do you want that? Are you starting some sort of macabre collection or something?"

"Hardly," the Warden chuckled. "It's for the Joining Ritual."

"Joining Ritual?" she queried. "What in the Void is a Joining Ritual?"

Alistair licked his lips and gave a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry. I can't tell you."

Solona scowled. "What do you mean you can't tell me?"

His right shoulder slowly lifted then fell while his expression turned both thoughtful and sympathetic "It's not that I don't want to. I just can't. It's part of the whole Grey Warden thing. We all have to go through it before we can become Wardens."

Solona pursed her lips in frustration. Apparently the Joining Ritual was a lot like the Harrowing. Just as secretive and, if the look on Alistair's face was any indication, just as deadly. It was the same look Anders had given her when she would ask him what was involved in the final test to become a mage. She only hoped that she hadn't survived one test just to have her life taken by another.

"We should probably get back," she suggested.

He smiled and gave a nod, obviously relieved that she wasn't going to push the subject any further. As they walked toward the camp, they came to Daveth's body. The thief's face was twisted in horror, his green eyes still wide with shock. Streams of coagulated blood made heavy lines from his nose and crossed his cheeks.

Alistair knelt down next to the body and grabbed the thief's shoulders before gazing up at Solona. "Would you mind giving me a hand?" he requested.

"Sure…I guess," she replied. "What do you want me to do?"

"Grab his feet and help me haul him back," he told her as he struggled to stand while maintaining his hold on Daveth's body.

Solona did as the Warden asked. When she touched the skin of his leg, she was surprised by how cold it was. Not even an hour before, she had seriously wanted the man dead, but not like that. As apathetic as she was most of the time and as much as she had grown to despise Daveth, she wouldn't have wished such a fate on anyone.

It was a bit of an ordeal, but the two of them managed to get the body back to camp without losing their grip on it. When they arrived, Duncan and Jory were already waiting for them, along with a man Solona had never seen before. Actually, the new arrival seemed more mountain than human.

He was much taller than Anders, at least seven feet, maybe more. But it wasn't just his height, his entire body was huge with extremely wide shoulders and a broad chest. His arms looked to be the size of the trunk of a birch tree. He shifted the huge battle axe he carried across his shoulder causing his muscular bicep to bulge out even further.

The bangs of his long, greasy blonde hair were tied back while the rest was left to fall across the fur pauldrons about his shoulders. He wore no other covering on the top half of his body, save the fur vambraces on his forearms. His legs were clothed in pants fashioned from thick, diamond-shaped pieces of heavy leather that had been stitched together. Over his calves and ankles to just past his knees were a pair of greaves made of the same fur as his pauldrons. A wide leather cord snaked around them to hold them in place.

He turned toward Alistair and Solona, and the mage was surprised to find that he was actually quite handsome. The lower half of his face was veiled by heavy scruff, not quite long enough for a beard. His eyes shone bright blue in the light of the campfire, and under his left were three thin red stripes, each measuring about an inch long.

Alistair stopped near the tent closest to the fire and lowered the top half of Daveth's body to the ground. The mage followed his lead by gently settling the thief's legs down. The young Warden frowned with dismay as he dusted off his hands on the front side of his trousers. Duncan approached and took a knee at his young protégé's left side.

"I take it things didn't go as expected," the commander observed.

Alistair heaved a sigh before turning his eyes to the older man. "I'm sorry, Duncan. He ran off on his own. I suppose I should have…"

The commander shook his head. "Sometimes people behave foolishly, Alistair, and there is nothing we can do to protect them from themselves. If Daveth was reckless, the fault of his death is his own, not yours."

The expression on the young warrior's face told Solona that those words had been of little comfort. He shrugged. "I guess I understand."

Duncan clapped Alistair on the shoulder. "Come, there is someone I would like you to meet."

"What about him?" the younger man asked, pointing to the body lying on the ground.

The commander's dark eyes narrowed as he stared into Alistair's. There was something in that exchange that conveyed a message Solona and the others were not meant to hear. A secret passed between only the two Grey Wardens.

"We will administrate the pyre," he said, his gaze even more intent. " _After_ the Joining is complete."


	7. The Joining

Alistair was keenly aware of the meaning behind Duncan's words. The ones he left unspoken. Daveth's pyre would have to wait in case others needed to be set. It was very possible that the two Grey Wardens would have four funerals to perform that evening instead of just the one.

The young warrior's gaze met Solona's, and his stomach lurched with the notion that, even after all they had been through together, she might not survive the night. Although he couldn't say that he and the mage were friends exactly, he still had a great deal of respect for her. Beneath that tough, cold exterior beat the heart of a woman who was worthy of more than the fate that was possibly about to befall her.

Duncan stood at his full height and reached out a hand for his protégé. "Come on," he said. "We will deal with this later."

Alistair took the commander's wrist and rose from the ground. He turned to follow the older Warden only to bump into the largest man he had ever seen. The giant's eyes narrowed and his brow creased as he stared down at the young Warden. Whoever the hulking man was, he was as intimidating as the void.

"S...sorry," the smaller warrior stammered.

The behemoth's glare softened and the corners of his mouth curved into a smile. It wasn't frightening or threatening, but genuine and humble.

"It's alright," he said, his voice unexpectedly quiet and unassertive. "No harm done."

"Alistair," Duncan interjected. "This is Sithig. He's an Avvar from clan Stormhold."

The tall man waggled his head with a morose frown. "No. I was born Sithig Ar Agnis O Stormhold. I haven't been that man in a long time. I am no longer Avvar. No longer clan Stormhold. It is just Sithig now."

Alistair had heard stories of the Avvar. Being a former templar initiate, he was well versed in the history of the mountain people. While the Chantry preferred those in training to stop at their carefully calculated stories of Andraste and her husband Maferath, the young warrior found the narratives on the Alamarri and Avvars to be far more interesting. The red stripes beneath Sithig's left eye and his words told Alistair that this man must have done something terrible, a betrayal of his people that was beyond forgiveness. He was what the Avvar called "Unwanted", a fate worse than death for the barbarian race.

"Jory and I found Sithig in the woods. He was fighting off a hurlock with two more spawn lying dead at his feet."

It was then that the young Warden noticed that the larger man's left bicep was swathed in a crimson stained cloth. He internally cringed. He had been exposed to the taint, which meant that Duncan intended him to take part in the Joining along with Solona and Jory.

"I still don't understand why you stopped me from killing the last one," Sithig wondered aloud.

"It is part of the ritual I spoke to you about," explained the commander. "In order to take part in the Joining, a recruit must first kill a darkspawn. If Jory had not slain the final spawn, we would have had to wait to perform the rite. I am not sure you would have survived the delay."

"Because I have the night-gangers' sickness inside me," the Avvar confirmed.

Duncan nodded. "Yes. The Joining is the only way to stop its progression from taking your life over the next few days."

"And if I take part in this ritual of yours," Sithig questioned. "I will become one of your clan? A Grey Warden?"

"If you survive the Joining," the older man reiterated. "Yes, you will be a Warden."

"If he survives?" Jory asked with an arch of his brow. "What do you mean if he survives? Can this Joining kill us?"

"We Wardens pay a heavy price to become what we are," Duncan explained. "Fate may decree that you pay your price now."

The knight scowled as he mulled over the commander's words. Alistair only hoped he didn't try to back out now that he knew what could happen. He had witnessed first-hand the terrible price a man paid if cowardice took over during the ritual, and he was loathe to see it again.

"I am ready," Jory finally told the commander. "It is the sworn and sacred duty of a knight to defend his land and its people. I will do what I must to see that done. If I pay with my life, then that is what the Maker requires of me."

Duncan turned to Solona. "And you?"

She folded her arms over her chest with a bored expression. "I've already faced the Harrowing, and I passed that test. This should be simple in comparison."

Alistair wanted to tell her what was about to happen, to explain that, unlike the Harrowing, wits and cleverness had nothing to do with the Joining. It wasn't about who a recruit was or where they came from, how smart or how ignorant they were. It was all a matter of physical constitution and spiritual fortitude, not mental strength.

"Very well," the commander said with a terse nod. "I will go and prepare the ritual." He turned to his fellow Warden. "Alistair, please keep an eye on things while I'm away."

The younger man clapped a fist to his heart. "Of course, commander."

After Duncan disappeared into his tent, Alistair and the two smaller recruits found a seat on the fallen log next to the fire while Sithig chose to settle himself on a nearby patch of dirt. They remained silent as they watched the flames, each lost in their own thoughts. After a long while, Jory finally spoke, his voice low and somber.

"His name is to be Eric. Eric Jordan Rayford. Named for my father and me."

"That's your name?" Alistair queried. "Jordan Rayford?"

The knight bobbed his head. "Yes, my mam called me Jory when I was a child, and it just sort of…stuck."

"And how do you know your child is to be a boy?" Solona questioned, her tone a bit more snobbish than Alistair thought proper given the situation.

He scowled. "A strange woman told us. It's an odd story, that one. My wife, Helena, and I were walking through the market in Highever one afternoon. We were browsing the shops and she was going on about one of the fancy children's dresses and how, if our baby were a girl, she wanted to buy such a dress for her someday.

"Then suddenly, out of nowhere it seemed, this woman in a long black dress and hooded black cloak appeared at Helena's side. She was as pale as a specter, with golden-yellow eyes, like a raptor, and her hair was black as night, as dark as her clothes if not more so. Without asking permission, she placed her hand on my wife's belly and said, _Your child is to be a boy. He will be strong, like his father. The pride and joy of his mother_.

"Helena and I just looked at each other in disbelief. I suppose we were both a bit shocked by the entire thing. I turned to ask the woman who she was, how she knew, but she was gone. Disappeared as quickly as she came."

"The woman in black," Solona breathed. "I've read stories about her."

"As have I," Alistair concurred. "But isn't that just an old legend?"

Jory shook his head. "I don't know, but I'll tell you this…I believed her and so did my wife."

The Warden felt a chill run down his spine. The woman in black was a legend as old as Ferelden itself. The stories of a dark woman appearing all over Thedas were vast. Some called her a bad omen and some a guide to lost souls. There were even those who said she was an agent of the Maker himself. The official stance of the Chantry was that the woman in black was simply an apostate who decided to take on the mantle of the legend every few years to make true believers question the Chant.

"We call her the wandering witch," Sithig said, interrupting Alistair's musings. "Among the Avvar, to see the wandering witch means that death is on the wind. It is said she is sent by the Lady of the Skies as a warning. Those who see her know they must alter their course or face death."

Jory's frown deepened. "My mam used to say much the same thing in the stories she told when I was a boy. The woman in black was always a death omen."

Jory was mentally preparing himself to die. Alistair saw it written all over the man's face as surely as if it were tattooed into his forehead. He knew with that line of thinking, the knight would never survive the Joining Ritual. He clapped a hand over the other man's shoulder.

"Don't worry about it," the Warden comforted. "It's just a silly superstition. It was probably just some apostate trying to play a prank."

"Don't get me wrong," Jory continued as if he hadn't heard a word Alistair said. "I'm not afraid to die. Never have been. I just wish I could have seen my son, held him in my arms just one time."

Before Alistair could argue with the knight any further, Duncan reemerged from his tent holding a large silver chalice in his hands. He strode over to where the others were and stood in front of the fire. The red and orange flames reflecting in his armor somehow made the realization of the events that were about to unfold even more ominous.

The commander addressed his recruits. "Please rise." He waited until the three did as they were directed before continuing. "And now, we come to the Joining. The Grey Wardens were founded during the First Blight when humanity stood on the brink of annihilation. So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood and mastered their taint."

Solona grimaced with disgust. "We have to drink the blood of those…things? You're kidding right?"

Alistair felt panic begin to well up inside him. _No. No. No. Not you too._

He gave a cough, hoping to garner her attention, hoping Duncan would forgive him for the interruption later. When she glanced in his direction, he glared at her, bidding her to look into his eyes. Maybe, just maybe he could help strengthen her resolve or at least anger her enough to get her mind off any trepidation she might be feeling.

 _Don't panic. You've got this._

Ignoring both the mage's questions and Alistair's disruption, Duncan proceeded with the remainder of the speech he had given dozens of times. "We speak only a few words prior to the joining," Duncan recommenced. "But these words have been said since the first." He gave a small nod to his protégé. "Alistair, if you would."

The younger Warden tore his eyes from Solona's and straightened his shoulders before bowing his head. "Join us, brothers and sisters," he began in a soft voice. "Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn. And should you perish…know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten…And that one day…we…shall join you."

Alistair lifted his head to see Duncan hold the up the chalice and address Jory. "Jordan Eldridge Rayford, please step forward." The knight slowly made his way to the commander and stood before him. The heartbreak in Jory's eyes told Alistair everything he needed to know. There would be at least one more to add to the pyre that night.

Duncan passed the cup to the knight, who hesitated only a moment before taking it into his hands. "You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good."

Jory breathed a heavy, ragged sigh before lifting the chalice and taking a drink of the dark liquid inside. Alistair remained still as he once again lowered his eyes to the ground. He knew exactly what was going to happen, and he couldn't bear to witness it. He said a silent prayer to commend the knight's soul to the Maker. He heard the sputtering and the choking followed by screams of agony. In less than a minute, silence fell over the glade, marred only by the hissing and popping of the crackling fire.

"You will be remembered, Jordan Eldridge Rayford" Duncan lamented.

Alistair closed his eyes. Two left. He remembered how terrified he was after seeing the same thing happen to a fellow recruit at his own Joining. He wondered how Solona was handling it. He peered over at her, and was relieved to find that her expression was pure stone.

 _There you go. Keep that resolve up._

Duncan turned to Sithig next. "Sithig, you are called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good."

The Avvar stepped forward without hesitation and took the cup from the commander's hand. There was no reluctance, no pause. He simply gulped down a good portion of the chalice's contents before handing it back to Duncan. Alistair had never even heard of anyone partaking of the Joining with such stride, such indifference to whether they would survive or perish. The man was obviously resolved to his fate either way.

Sithig reeled back a step and squinted his eyes against the pain and the visions caused by the taint. He grunted once and grabbed his gut before falling to his knees. Seconds later, he collapsed to the ground completely, his chest rising and falling easily.

Alistair held his breath as Duncan turned his eyes to Solona. He wanted to give her words of encouragement. To warn her not to panic. To have faith that she would survive, but tradition wouldn't allow for it. It had to be her doing, and hers alone.

Solona Madeleine Amell," the commander beckoned. "Step forward."

When she took the cup, Alistair noticed the slight tremble in her hands. He shut his eyes and concentrated. He was sure she couldn't hear his thoughts, but perhaps the Maker would be kind enough to somehow allow his words to seep into her soul. The image of a dark city on a distant, severed mountain flashed through his mind. It wasn't the first time he had seen it, and like every time it appeared before, he ignored it as he willed his words to reach the mage.

 _Come on, sweetheart. Don't be afraid. You've got this._

"You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good."

Alistair squeezed his eyes tighter, continually repeating the words, " _You've got this_ ," under his breath.

He opened his lids in time to witness Solona raise the chalice to her full lips. Alistair could see the thick black liquid enter her parted mouth, but there was no fear in her eyes. Her expression was one of total resolution. He held his breath again and waited.

She shook her head before placing her fingertips to her brow. Her entire form shivered as if she were freezing. Her limbs began to shake as her body wrestled with the foreign substance introduced into her bloodstream. Then, it stopped. She swayed back and forth as if she were in some sort of trance for only a moment before her muscles went rigid and she straightened like an arrow. She teetered on her feet, on the verge of collapse, and Alistair lunged toward her. The young Warden was at her side in a flash and caught her just before she hit the ground. He cradled her in his arms and brushed the fringe away from her brow. She was cold, colder than the wind that whipped through the tendrils of her sable brown hair.

 _Please. Dear Maker, if you exist…if you ever existed, let her live._

Suddenly, Solona's chest heaved upward as she sucked in a deep breath. Alistair's eyes filled with tears as his lips curved into a broad smile. She made it. She survived.

* * *

Solona awoke in her tent sometime later. The pounding in her head felt as if someone had attempted to bash it in with a war hammer. Heavy brown canvas surrounded her on all sides. She closed her eyes and scraped the tips of her fingers across dampened, dead grass causing muck to cake beneath her nails. She was most certainly not in her own bed.

 _Where in the void am I?_

Everything looked so unfamiliar, so foreign. The only thing she could recall was the image of a great dragon perched atop a stone bridge, lifting its head to the sky with a resounding roar. It had been a terrifying dream. There had been a voice. She heard a man speaking quietly in the darkness. What were the words? A prayer of some sort? She couldn't quite remember.

The mage attempted to roll onto her side. Every muscle in her body wrenched in agony with the effort. She couldn't do it. It hurt too much. Her guts twisted with nausea and pain, as if they were fighting off some sort of illness. Was she sick? She had suffered through influenza as a child, but this…this was far worse. She felt confused, exhausted and weak, queasy and sore, the way Anders' had once described the effects of the worst and most effective poisons to her.

"Hey," she heard a familiar voice say. It was the one from her strange dream. "You're awake."

 _Alistair._

It all came back to her like a torrential flood breaking through a cracked dam. The Grey Wardens. The Darkspawn. Jory and Daveth. The silver cup full of foul smelling liquid she drank from. The inevitable pull off the abyss. Alistair's voice calling her back. It was all there. All real.

The young warrior's face appeared to her left as he knelt down next to her bedroll. He held out a small leaf for her to take. "Here, chew on this," he instructed. "It'll help with the queasiness."

She already felt like she had been poisoned. In a way, she supposed she had, which made her wary about any more "tests" the Wardens might require of her. She wasn't about to ingest anything else without knowing what it was first. She scowled at the plant.

The left corner of his mouth curled into a knowing half smile. "It's peppermint," he explained. "It helps. Trust me."

She lifted her hand to take his offering and winced in pain from the effort. Once in her fingers, she studied the gift for a long moment, trying to discern the truth of his words. He chuckled.

"Go on, take a whiff. You _do_ know what peppermint smells like, don't you?"

Solona rolled her eyes, but immediately regretted it. It felt as if her brain had exploded inside her skull. A wave of bile rose up from her stomach, burning like acid as it traveled toward her mouth. She closed her lids and forced it back down with a torturous gulp. Her entire esophagus felt as if it were on fire.

"O…of course I do," she finally managed as her eyes fluttered open. The sound of her own creaking voice echoing in her head was both painful and unfamiliar. "I…I'm not an idiot."

Alistair waggled his head, the goofy smile never leaving his face. If she thought she could get away with punching him without causing herself more pain, she would have at that moment. Then, she noticed something. There was a glisten to those hazel-green orbs. Had he been crying? That's when she realized the grin he wore wasn't born of amusement, but utter relief.

He took the leaf from her fingers and moved it toward her face then waved it beneath her nostrils. "See? Peppermint."

He lowered it to her lips, but she bit down on them with a grimace. "N…no," she stammered. "W…water…please."

He brushed the hair from her forehead with his free hand, his brow creased with sympathy. "I know that's what you think you want right now, but trust me, you really don't. If your stomach isn't settled at least a bit, you're not going to keep it down. That's pain you never want to experience. Believe me, I found that out the hard way."

Another wave of acrid vomit tried to make its way up, causing her entire chest to erupt with tormenting agony. Solona's whole body began thrashing against the pain. Her heart raced so fast and hard, she thought it would burst through her ribcage. That's when she came to the realization, she was going to die.

Alistair straddled her torso, taking great care to ensure the bulk of his weight remained on his knees, and held her head down on her pillow with his hand to her forehead. No longer caring to gain her permission, he stuffed the leaf into the side of her mouth on the outside of her clenched teeth.

 _Shh._ The sound was measured and soothing. His lids narrowed as his piercing gaze locked onto her eyes. He licked his lips. "Calm down, Solona. Breathe." He inhaled deeply to serve as an example for her, his broad chest swelling with the effort. "Long, slow breaths."

Her eyes widened as she gasped for air. She felt his thumb softly caress her cheek while his stare became more intense. She couldn't do it. Every pant brought the darkness closer. It was no use. She tried to jerk her face away, but Alistair's grip on her forehead tightened.

"Look at me," he hissed. "You've got this."

Those were the words she heard during the Joining. The words that gave her courage and hope. After seeing Jory fall to his death, she had lost her confidence. If an honorable man, a knight, could be taken like that, what hope did she have? It was Alistair's voice inside her head that got her through it. It was the only thing that helped her survive.

Now, he was there again, fighting for her. Fighting with her. He was right. She could do this. She had made it through the Harrowing. She had survived the previous evening. She wasn't about to let it beat her now.

Her breathing began to slow, matching his, breath for breath. She realized the nausea she experienced before was beginning to calm. She was going to be alright. Thanks to Alistair, she was going to make it.

* * *

When he was certain she was out of immediate danger, Alistair rolled off Solona and onto his back. It had been hours since she drank from the chalice, yet her body was still fighting tooth and nail against the taint. Even though she survived the most fundamental portion of the Joining, she still wasn't out of the woods completely. The first twenty-four hours after the ritual were pivotal. A recruit could still perish at any time during that initial day. It happened sometimes. Newly-Joined Wardens were known to die several hours after they partook of the blighted blood. That wasn't going to happen to Solona, though. Not if he could help it.

The young Warden turned his head so he could see the mage's face. She was still so pale, so weakened, but at least she was breathing normally again. It wasn't the first time Alistair had to calm Solona down since the ritual, but it was the first time he had to do it while she was actually conscious.

Right after the Joining was complete, Duncan told Alistair to remain by Sithig's side next to the fire to watch over the Avvar during the night. The young warrior, however, was disinclined to agree to that order. Somehow, he knew he had to be the one to stay with Solona that evening. He felt it in his bones, to his very core.

He requested that he be allowed to tend to the mage, mentally preparing himself to argue with his mentor, to beg if the situation warranted it. Duncan's dark eyes stared into Alistair's, as if he was gauging the younger Warden's resolve. After a few minutes, he exhaled a long breath and nodded his consent.

As soon as the commander granted his permission, Alistair scooped Solona into his arms and carried her back to her tent where he lowered her onto her bedroll and removed her boots. He didn't take his eyes from her the entire evening. He was exhausted, but he wouldn't leave her to battle the taint alone.

Twice during the night, he ended up lying next to her with his lips pressed to her ear, whispering soothing words to calm her thrashing. Her skin went from blistering hot to the touch, to sweating profusely, to ice cold, and back again more times than his frazzled mind could count. He said more prayers to the Maker that evening than he had in years. There was no plausible explanation for his feelings or actions. Somehow, for some reason, he just couldn't let her go.

She tilted her head to the side, her face contorting with pain. Alistair wanted to cry for her. The whites of her eyes had turned a bright shade of pink with dark red lines from the corners to the irises, and her brilliant lapis blue orbs had dulled to a lackluster, sallow grey with silver pupils. Dusky streaks of blackish-blue traced the veins of her once alabaster skin, which had given way to a languid shade of ecru mottled with the hue of drab slate.

Her pallid lips trembled as they parted, and Alistair became aware that she was trying to speak. He inched closer to her and brushed the damp curls from her cheeks. She was sweating again. It was a good sign.

"What is it?" he asked softly as he gazed into her haunting, blighted eyes.

She exhaled an extended breath. The lines in her face deepened, giving her the appearance of a woman years beyond her young age. Her chest shook with the slight cough she was attempting not to expel.

"W…wa," she barely managed before a tear spilled onto her dappled cheek.

Alistair grabbed the waterskin he had placed next to her bedroll and pulled the cork. With the peppermint leaf secured between her teeth and jaw, he knew it was probably safe for her to finally take a drink. He carefully lowered the rim of the skin to her lips and squeezed a few drops into her mouth.

Some of the liquid trickled down the side of her face, but most made it in. Her throat constricted with the effort of swallowing, resulting in another grimace of pain. Alistair started to rock back onto his heels, but her grey eyes begged him for more.

He bobbed his head as he repeated the process. "Not too much," he warned her. "You don't want to choke."

When she was finished with her second sip, Solona offered him a weak smile. The silver in her pupils faded a bit with that gesture and he detected a slight tinge of pink in her lips and cheeks. That was when he knew the worst was over. He would stay there with her until she was able to fend for herself again, of course, but she was finally beginning to recover.

He returned the gesture with a boyish grin. "See, I told you. You've got this."

She gave him a nod as her eyes began to flutter. She had to be exhausted. He recalled what it was like. The aftermath of his Joining hadn't been quite as difficult as Solona's, not as far as he remembered. Duncan had remained at his side while he slept off the worst of it. At least she hadn't vomited the way he did. He wasn't sure her body could have handled the strain of that.

 _The mint leaf._

Alistair had almost forgotten it was still in her mouth. She could choke on the thing in her sleep if he didn't remove it. He scowled.

 _How in the Maker's name am I supposed to remove that thing?_

There was nothing for it. He had no choice but to reach in and pull the leaf out. He stretched out his hand and placed his index finger on the left corner of her lips.

 _So far, so good._

Slowly and carefully, he wiggled the digit to pry open the side of her mouth. She grimaced as her lips parted against his finger.

 _Please, please don't bite me._

The mage jerked her head when the end of his finger made contact with her teeth, but he had managed to catch enough of the leaf to grab hold of it before her mouth snapped shut again. He checked to make sure he hadn't woke her, and was relieved to find that she was still slumbering. 

After flicking the leaf across the tent, the Warden arched his back with a roll of his shoulders and yawned. He was so very tired, and watching her chest rise and fall with easy, rhythmic breaths did nothing to help drive away his need for sleep. Maybe he could catch a short nap. Just a few minutes resting his eyes wouldn't hurt. Would it?

 _And what are you going to do if she wakes up again? What if she needs you? How in the void are you going to know if you're asleep?_

The warrior sat up and rubbed his drooping eyes. They burned so badly, he could barely see anymore. He uncorked the waterskin, poured a bit of its contents onto his hands and splashed his face. After blinking several times, he realized it hadn't done a bit of good. He felt as if he were going blind already, and by his estimation it was only late morning. There was no way he would be able to make it until nightfall.

As he continued to observe Solona between the slits of his lids, he got an idea. He knew it was highly inappropriate. He also knew the mage would probably be angry that he was even considering it, but he had to do something.

In desperation for the sleep he so sorely needed, Alistair crawled to Solona's side and lay down next to her. He then rolled over and gingerly slipped his arm around her waist. He nearly fainted when she turned onto her side facing away from him and slid her hand down to his. She snaked her fingers between his lower knuckles and gave a contented sigh as she snuggled her back into him.

 _Please don't hurt me when you wake up,_ Alistair thought as he tightened his grip around her.

Before he closed his eyes, he stole a glance at Solona's face. Her color had all but returned and the dark lines were nearly completely faded. As long as it had taken her to get past the worst of the sickness, he was surprised at how quickly she was recovering. She didn't even seem sore anymore. As he contemplated the speed of her recuperation, Alistair's eyes began to grow heavy again. He couldn't fight it any longer. The feel of her against him, the warmth of her body, it was all too comfortable. Within moments, his lids finally closed and he fell into the best sleep he ever had.


	8. The Misunderstanding

A catlike grin curled across Solona's lips as she nestled her body closer into the man at her back. Instinctively, she gently rocked her hips, causing her buttocks to slide up and down the erection pressed against them. Funny, it was larger than she remembered.

The arm encircling her waist tightened. The feel of him was heavenly, but something seemed off about the entire scenario. She inhaled through her nose. The scent was all wrong. She shifted her right leg to find she was able to move it freely. Anders always wrapped his long, slender leg over hers while they slept. Always.

Solona's eyes popped open. Who in the Maker's name was she sleeping with? She jerked her head to the right to find Alistair cuddled up to her, slumbering.

"Get off me, you idiot!" she demanded as she wrested away from his grasp.

The warrior bolted upright and scrambled away until his back was against the side of her tent. His respirations came in quick pants as he flashed a sheepish grin. He seemed more like a child whose mother caught him with a hand in the cookie jar than a grown man.

"G…good morning?" he stammered nervously.

Solona glowered at him. She had taken many men to her bed over the past six years, but every one of them had been her choice. She remembered the feel of his manhood pressed against her, and it fueled her ire even further. If she had known it was Alistair, she would have never behaved the way she did.

The last man who attempted to take advantage of her payed for it by feeling the sting of lightning to his balls. The mage's eyes trailed down to the warrior's still bulging crotch while her fingers began to tingle from the shock spell she called forth. Without warning, she released the spell at her target, but it dissipated before finding its mark.

"How dare you?" she seethed.

"Calm down, Solona," he said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you. I just wanted to…"

The mage's chest heaved with every labored breath, her face red with scorn. "I know exactly what you wanted," she fumed. "What in the Maker fuck ever gave you the idea that I would want to bed _you_? That I would even give you the time of day? What? Just because you're a templar and I'm a mage you think it gives you some kind of right to fuck me whenever you get the urge?"

"B…but…" he stuttered.

"Shut up!" she commanded. "Did I take too long to breathe and give you the impression that it was your turn to speak?" She glared at him through narrowed lids. "There is only one thing you need to know, Alistair, and you would do well to burn this into that non-existent brain of yours. If you _ever_ so much as think of touching me in that manner again, I swear to the fucking Maker I will cut your balls off while you sleep and stuff them down your Maker fucking throat!"

The warrior's face was pleading. He looked as if he might cry. In her fury, Solona didn't care one wit for any regret he might be feeling. He had violated her trust, and just when she was beginning to warm up to him. He was just like the others, only caring for his own pleasure. Just like Anders. Making her believe he cared for her only to use her in the end. If he had wanted to bed her, all he really had to do was ask. With everything they had been through, it could have been a welcome distraction. After what he attempted, however, she would rather be tied to a spit and roasted over an open flame than let him ever touch her.

"Solona," he beseeched.

"Get out," she demanded, her tone low and threatening.

"But,"

"Out!" she bellowed and pointed at the flap of her tent.

Alistair's shoulders slumped with a heavy sigh before making his way to the entrance. Once he was gone, Solona flopped back onto the hard pillow Duncan had assigned her. The impact smarted, causing her to blanch slightly. Her eyes began to sting from the salty drops forming within, but her tears were not born of pain. They were tears of betrayal. How could he do that? She thought they were friends.

She realized he was sleeping when she woke. Was he waiting for her to come to, find him there, and then make his move? If so, it was a ridiculously stupid attempt to get into her smalls. Why did men feel it necessary to play such games?

She closed her lids, recalling the events of the past few days. He saved her life, several times over, in fact. He wouldn't have done that just to bed her. No man was that desperate. Perhaps, like Cullen, he thought he was in love with her. She shook her head. No…she hadn't seen any sign of that sort of emotion in his hazel-green orbs. The only thing she ever recognized in his eyes was a sense of gentle kindness and genuine concern.

A long, perturbed sigh echoed throughout the canvas shelter. Perhaps she was a bit hasty in her assumptions. Maybe it was just a simple misunderstanding after all. She never gave him a chance to explain, she just assumed…

 _Damn! I probably owe him an apology._

Solona sat up and pulled her knees to her chest. She wondered if Alistair was angry with her. She certainly couldn't blame him. He was only trying to protect her, and she berated him for it. Worse still, she threatened him and treated him as if her were some kind of drooling lecher. He never deserved that, and she knew it. She also knew she had to make things right with him, somehow.

The mage slipped her feet into her boots before making her way out of her tent. By the position of the sun hanging low in the west, she perceived it was around dusk. She had been out of commission for nearly an entire day. Her eyes perused the camp, but she saw no sign of Alistair or Duncan, only Sithig tending the fire. When she approached the Avvar, he peered up at her with a warm smile.

"You live," he observed.

"I do," she replied. "Where are the others?"

The large man indicated to the other side of the glade with a sharp nod. "Over there. They are readying the flame for the departed."

Solona considered going to help the two men, but quickly decided against it. She had no idea how to set up a pyre. She had never even attended one before. As far as she knew, the mages and apprentices who died in the Circle were taken outside the tower and their bodies disposed of without any funeral rite. None that she was aware of, anyway. She knew of no mage who had been in attendance of another mage's pyre. Anders would say that the templars simply took the departed gifted out with the rubbish from kitchens and incinerated everything at once. That statement was in jest, of course, but Solona couldn't help but wonder if there was something to that sentiment.

The young mage sat on the ground next to the towering man and began moving dirt with the toe of her boot. She could feel the Avvar watching her out of the corner of his eye, but the two new Wardens maintained their reticence. The sun was nearly completely gone when Sithig finally interrupted the silence.

"Solona, is it?" he inquired. When she answered with a nod, he continued. "I couldn't help but overhear. There was a good deal of hollering before. Did our fellow Warden attempt to sully your honor?"

The mage cringed as she continued to watch her own feet. "I may have overreacted a bit," she confessed.

"Your words seemed to trouble him a great deal," he told her. "His face bore guilt. I thought to challenge him on your behalf, but I decided I should gain your favor to do so first."

The hint of a smile played at the corners of Solona's lips. She imagined the expression on Alistair's face if the Avvar had actually challenged him. He probably would have pissed himself before stammering his way through the explanation she didn't allow him the chance to give. As humorous as that scenario might have been, the mage couldn't allow Sithig to threaten their companion.

"As I said," she explained. "I overreacted. Besides, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I have my own way of dealing with such matters."

The large man chuckled. "I heard the threat you made. Reminded me of my Kattrin. That woman had the fire of a dwarven forge in her blood."

Solona finally turned her head to look at the oversized warrior. His smile had been replaced by melancholy, his blue eyes haunted by a distant memory. Whoever the woman was, he had obviously loved her very much.

The mage's eyes trailed to the Avvar's wrist. Wrapped around it, over the fur vambraces was a long piece of heavy rope, frayed and stained by hard-fought battles and time. Solona recognized it as the symbol of marriage among Sithig's people. When Avvars married, instead of exchanging rings, the couple would tie ropes around each other's wrists at the completion of the ceremony. The female's held a series of knots throughout its length, while the man's was unencumbered by any kinks. It was all part of the rites of matrimony among the Avvarian peoples.

Just before the ceremony commenced, the bride would sing a hymn to her chosen god while the groom attempted to undo a series of knots in a long rope. However many knots the groom untied represented the number of years the marriage would last. By the length of cord around Sithig's wrist, Solona could tell he and his wife were meant to be mates for a good long while.

"Kattrin?" the mage asked. "That was your wife?"

"Aye," he answered as he gazed into the fire.

"What happened to her?" she prodded.

The space between his eyebrows disappeared and the edges of his lips wilted into a woeful frown. "I would rather not speak of this."

Solona bobbed her head, conceding to his request. Although her curiosity was piqued, she had no intention of pushing the issue. She, better than perhaps anyone, understood the want for such silence and secrets when it came to matters of the heart. After all, talking of such things would do nothing to further their endeavors, and may make things worse by conveying weaknesses neither wished to admit to.

An awkward hush permeated the air between them as they both became lost in their own thoughts. Solona's musings turned to Anders, as they always did in the quiet moments. She hated the quiet, just as she hated him, but loved him as much at the same time. An eternity passed until Sithig mercifully interrupted the uneasy calm by rising to his feet. He brushed the dirt from the seat of his pants and indicated to the two men who were making their way across the encampment.

"It seems our friends have returned," he observed before walking away to greet them.

* * *

Alistair groaned when he noticed Solona sitting next to the fire. He had hoped she would still be in her tent when he and Duncan returned to camp. How was he ever going to face her after what happened earlier? He was embarrassed, but at the same time, he was angry. After everything he had done for her, how could she believe him capable of such a thing?

He was aware that there were templars in the Order who took advantage of mages in that manner, but he had never given any indication he was one of them. For that matter, he wasn't even a templar, and she knew it. He told her that the night she joined them.

Yes, he had an erection when she woke him, but that had little to nothing to do with her. He awoke in that condition nearly every morning since the age of thirteen. He was still a virgin, for the Maker's sake. He wasn't going to tell her that, of course. He got ridiculed about it from the other Wardens enough back in Denerim. Solona would more than likely annihilate his ego if she ever discovered the truth.

Alistair watched the mage as she rose from the ground and began heading in his direction. He gave a sigh, bracing himself for the tongue lashing he was inevitably going to receive. She made her distaste for him perfectly clear. Why did she feel the need to humiliate him further? Maybe Daveth was right, maybe she was just a bitch.

At the same time, for reasons he simply couldn't explain, he continued to feel a deep connection to Solona. He found his empathy for her plight quickly draining, but he still cared about her. Not romantically, of course. He could never see himself being with a woman that arrogant and snippy, but there was just something about her that made him want to keep trying.

Sithig was the first to greet the two. "Is everything ready?" he asked.

"Yes," Duncan replied. "We will commence with the pyre after supper."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" the Avvar offered.

"The only thing required of you is your presence," the commander told him.

A moment later, Solona caught up to them and immediately addressed Duncan. "Commander, may I speak to Alistair?" she requested. "Alone?"

 _Damn. More yelling._

The older Warden presented a slight bow of the head. "Of course," he told her. "Sithig and I will be waiting by the fire when you are finished."

The mage nodded with a tilt of her head and grabbed Alistair by the arm. She pulled him over to the tree line before she released him. The warrior folded his arms over his chest in an effort to appear calm and indifferent, but on the inside he was cringing from the backlash of another berating by her.

She exhibited a warm smile, causing Alistair to blanch with surprise. For the first time since he met her, she actually appeared…friendly. It had to be a trick of some sort. She must have had something devious and nasty planned for him. He concentrated on negating whatever spell she was about to hit him with. There was no hint of magic exuding from her apart from the normal presence of her gift. Still, he wasn't naïve enough to let down his guard.

"Alistair," she began with a hint of flirtation in her tone. "I was thinking…"

The warrior licked his lips before biting down on them to prevent himself from making a snarky comment. It wasn't as if she didn't deserve it, but he wanted to find out what she had to say. Perhaps she intended to apologize.

 _Yeah, right._

"After we fought that genlock last night," she proceeded. "It occurred to me that, as a mage, I really have no recourse against those creatures. So, I was wondering if you would be willing to teach me to use a sword."

Alistair was shocked by her request. Whatever he expected her to do or say, it certainly wasn't that. He shrugged.

"I suppose I could do that," he replied. "But, there's really no need. I mean…that's what I'm here for."

Her smile converted to a scowl for a moment before forming into a much wider, albeit, forced grin. "I realize that close combat is your forte. However, I don't like feeling completely helpless in such situations. Besides, if something were to happen to you, where would that leave me?"

She was trying, Maker bless her. Alistair wondered if the suggestion and her obvious attempt to hold her tongue was her version of an apology. He flourished a low bow.

"If that is what you wish, milady," he said with a lopsided grin. "I would be happy to honor your request."

The mage waggled her head with a chuckle. "Have I told you there's something very wrong with you?"

"Not in a few days," he retorted as he straightened his back. "To be perfectly honest, I was beginning to miss it. I thought you might have come down with something."

"Yes," she quipped. "The taint, remember?"

He snapped his fingers. "Damn. I completely forgot. How very silly of me. But what do you expect from a non-existent brain?"

He steeled himself from the repercussion of his words. He wanted to forgive her, but his pride was still stinging from the chiding he received earlier. She was obviously not going to apologize, but he needed for her to be aware that what she said would not be so easily forgotten.

Remarkably, she didn't seem angry by his attempted jab. She simply presented him with a sardonic grin. "I know it's a lot to ask of someone of your limited intelligence, but I'll try to be more patient."

Alistair harrumphed in response. Still insulting, but at least she did it with a smile.

It was late by the time the Wardens returned to camp following Jory and Daveth's pyre. Alistair was given the task of taking first watch while the others got some much needed sleep. It had been a long day, and they had at least three more ahead of them before they arrived at Ostagar.

While the rest of the Wardens bedded down for the evening, Alistair took a seat on the fallen log next to the fire pit and began pushing the coals around with the end of a long, whittled-down branch. It was quiet, too quiet actually. The darkspawn attack the night before had driven away any wildlife that normally inhabited the grove of trees surrounding them. There were no whippoorwills calling out to each other, no croaks of bullfrogs, or even the chirping of crickets. Just the crackling and popping of the fire and an uneasy reticence in the air.

After watching the dancing flames for a while, the young warrior pulled a small whetstone from his pack and his sword from its sheath and began polishing the blade. It had become a habit since he and Duncan left Denerim. The sound of the stone scraping against the metal echoed throughout the clearing and into the coppice surrounding him. Somehow the noise made him feel more at ease.

Alistair stopped when he detected rustling nearby. He shut his eyes, trying to discern if there were darkspawn in their midst, but he felt nothing. A few minutes later, Solona emerged from her tent wearing nothing but one of the oversized linen shirts Duncan had purchased for her in Wenborne and a heavy wool blanket across her shoulders.

She crept over to the fire, taking great care not to cut her feet on any sharp rocks or twigs, and sat down right beside him. After bringing the knees of her long, bare legs to her chest, she wrapped her entire body in the coverlet, but not before Alistair got a good view of her bare breasts beneath the thin top. His face grew hot and he knew he was blushing. He only hoped Solona hadn't detected the change in color.

"You're going to catch your death out here like that, you know," he told her as he continued to work on his sword.

"That's what the blanket is for," explained the mage

He shrugged. "It's your choice, but I'm not carrying you tomorrow if you get sick."

She bumped his shoulder with hers and smiled. "Yes you will."

The warrior cocked a brow. "You seem awfully sure of that. What makes you think I would risk throwing my back out to carry you?"

Her grin widened. "Given your past behavior, I'd say the odds are with me."

Alistair had to chuckle at her statement. She was probably right. No, she was definitely right. He'd do it, whether it was caused by her own inane behavior or not. The biggest trouble was, she knew it.

His hands continued to maneuver the stone across his blade as he observed the mage from the corner of his eye. She didn't seem to notice as she stared into the fire. Although she was sitting next to him, her thoughts were miles away. Her doleful expression told him those musings were less than pleasant.

He ran his tongue over his lips and cleared his throat to garner her attention. "It suddenly occurs to me that I know absolutely nothing about you, other than the fact that you're a mage and you were taken to the tower when you were five years old, that is."

She turned her face to him and tilted her head. Her eyes narrowed in slight confusion. "I can't believe you remembered that."

"What? That you're a mage or that you were taken to the tower when you were five?" he teased.

She rolled her lapis eyes. "Do you ever take anything seriously?"

He screwed up his face, his eyes upward and askance, in mock concentration for a moment before wagging his head. "No…" he said, then gave a snap of his fingers. "Wait…there _was_ that one time. But that didn't work out so well for me, so I decided to give it up."

Solona's shoulders shook with an easy laugh. "You are absolutely, barking mad. You know that, right?"

"Not quite," he joked. "I haven't reached the barking part yet. Growling occasionally, yes, but I _never_ bark."

After a bit more chuckling, the mage leaned against Alistair and placed her head on his right shoulder. His brow creased with confusion as his lips curved into an appreciative smile. He could hardly believe it. She was actually beginning to warm up to him. He considered putting an arm around her shoulders, but decided he shouldn't press his luck.

"So, what is it that you think you want to know?" she queried.

 _Everything._

That was the answer he wished to give her. He wanted to tell her to start from the beginning. To fill in the gap between her earliest memory to the evening they met. He realized she would never agree to that request, but that was what he desired. Instead he chose to start with the most basic of questions and hoped she would elaborate further

He placed the side of his head against the top of hers. "Alright…Where are you from? Besides the tower, I mean."

"I was born in Kirkwall to the noble House of Amell. I barely remember any of it, though. When I was four, my mother disappeared. She just left one morning and didn't return. My father searched for her, but never found her. Right after my fifth birthday, he woke us in the middle of the night and took us from the city."

"Us?" Alistair interrupted.

"My two brothers, my sister, and I," she clarified.

"Was it because the templars were after you?" he questioned.

"Not after me," explained the mage "My oldest brother, Decimus. He was ten. I didn't even know I had magic at the time. Anyway, my father took us to Cumberland. The evening we arrived, we stopped at an inn, but father didn't have enough coin to pay for a room. Instead, the innkeeper took every last coin my father had to let us stay in the loft of the stables out back. While we were getting ready for bed, Decimus got upset about something. I really don't remember what, but in his anger, he accidently set fire to a pile of straw. Father put it out, of course, but the innkeeper was furious.

"The next thing I knew, I was awakened by a large man in armor who picked me up and carried me outside. There were seven more templars waiting in the street. They each examined all four of us in turn then went to talk to my father. A few minutes later, he was yelling and crying and the templar who woke me picked me up. One bound Decimus's hands together with manacles, and another did the same to my brother, Maddox. They took us to the Chantry and put us in separate cells."

"What about your sister?" the warrior asked.

"They left her with my father," she replied. "Apparently, she didn't have the gift."

It was no wonder she was so bitter. First her mother abandoned her. Then she had to leave the only home she ever knew just to be torn away from the rest of her family and taken to a cell like some common thief when she was barely five years old.

The only time the former initiate had ever been involved in taking a child away from its parents was dramatic enough. The boy's name was Ryan. He was eleven, and it was his own mother who called for the templars at Bournshire. When Alistair and Knight-Commander Glavin arrived to collect Ryan, the boy cried for his mother, but she just collected her coin and turned her back on her son to return inside their home.

Alistair tried to console the child, but Glavin chastised him for it.

 _Don't be such a soft touch, initiate. You can't be kind to mages. If the older ones detect weakness, they'll use that to their advantage._

Alistair didn't believe it then, and his opinion certainly hadn't changed over the following two years. That was when he began doubting the Chantry's methods. Those doubts were cemented during Eva's Harrowing.

"Then what happened?" he requested of his fellow Warden.

"The next morning, my brothers were taken away. I was there until nightfall when two completely different templars took me aboard a ship. At first, the captain refused us passage, but he changed his mind in the end."

"Wanted more coin, did he?"

"No…" she hesitated. "I demanded that he take us. I told him the templars were part of the Chantry and he had to follow Chantry law."

Alistair gave her a questioning stare. "And that worked?"

"Not exactly," she told him. "He said, _Darlin' I don't believe in the Chantry and I don't give one wit about its laws. What else do you have to offer an old pirate?_ That's when I told him that he could be arrested if he didn't listen." She gauged Alistair's expression for a long moment. "I was a very precocious child."

"Not much has changed then?" the warrior quipped with a smirk.

"I suppose not," she admitted with a shrug. "Anyway, he said, _Better men than these two have tried, but by the time they send for the backup they'll need, I'll have shoved off and be halfway to Rivain."_

"So how in the Maker's name did the templars get him to agree to take you?" Alistair inquired.

"I'm not sure what changed his mind, actually. He looked my escorts over for a few minutes and told the boy who was with him to ready the cabin next to the captain's quarters for me and the one next to the galley for the templars."

"That's odd," the former initiate mused. "Maybe he didn't like the looks of your guards."

"I don't know," she said. "But we sailed right to the docks of Lake Calenhad and the captain traveled with us by ferry, right to the door of the tower."

Alistair would never say it to Solona, but he had the feeling that ship's captain saw something very untoward in those men's eyes. It wasn't unheard of for some templars who transported young mages to Circles to take advantage of the children. It was even rumored that some of those men acquired the job just for that purpose. It was a sad truth, but there were very demented people in the world, even among those who claimed to be agents of the Maker.

"Do you remember the captain's name?" the warrior questioned.

The mage shook her head. "No, I never asked."

Whomever the man was, Alistair felt he should be commended for saving a little girl from such an unspeakable fate. Stories like that always had a tendency to restore his faith in humanity. It told him that, no matter how bad things became, there were always good people willing to stand up for what was right.

Solona nuzzled her cheek against Alistair's shoulder, which brought a smile back to his face. They sat in silence for a time, but for once, he didn't mind. It wasn't an awkward lull, but more a comfortable peace. In the matter of an hour or so, Solona went from an uneasy acquaintance to a friend. At least he hoped they were friends.

Alistair could see by the position of the moon that it was nearly time for Duncan to take the next watch. He still had a million questions, but one weighed on his mind more than the others. He only hoped it was one that wouldn't damage the progression of their budding friendship.

"Who's Anders?" he queried.

She jolted upright and glowered at him. "How do you know that name?"

 _Way to go, jackass._

"I…I heard you say it," he stuttered to explain. "You mentioned him back in Wenborne. I…I wasn't trying to upset you."

Solona's indignant expression deflated into one of utter despair, and her eyes began to glisten in the firelight. Her hand reached up to clutch a small amulet that hung between her breasts. Whomever this Anders was, he had obviously hurt her very badly. Alistair had never seen anyone look so sorrowful, so devoid of hope as she ran the flat of her thumb over the small piece of jewelry. His own heart was breaking for her.

She gulped, clearly in an effort to hold back her tears. "Anders is…was…my lover. We were together for a very long time."

"It must have been difficult to leave him behind."

She waggled her head. "He left me behind. A long time ago."

"I'm sorry," Alistair apologized. "I shouldn't have pried."

The lines in her forehead deepened. "I don't want to talk about it. About him. Ever."

"Alright," he agreed. "Forget I said anything."

She nodded before turning her face away from him and swiping at her eyes with her fingertips. Alistair wanted to hug her, to hold her until she felt better and her tears stopped flowing. Instead, he continued to sit there like a statue.

"I think I'm going to go back to my tent now," she said as she stood. "Goodnight, Alistair."

"Goodnight, Solona," he told her, but she was gone before he finished saying her name.


	9. Lessons

The Wardens set out before dawn the following morning. Duncan was in such a hurry for them to be on their way that he ordered them back on the road as soon as their tents were broken down and packed. He didn't even allow them time for breakfast. Instead, he required them to eat their meal as they traveled.

It wasn't as if the morning fare was any different than their suppers. Solona was so fed up with hard tack and dried pork that she didn't care if she ever had either again. She was never especially fond of eating meat in the first place, but with such a dire lack of options, she was forced to choke down the jerky when the pangs in her gut became too much to bear.

The mage grimaced while chewing on the tough, stringy meat. She wasn't sure how much more of it her stomach could handle as it rumbled in protest. What she wouldn't have given for a fresh apple or pear at that moment.

"If you're not careful, your face is going to get stuck like that," Alistair teased as he fell in step at her side.

Solona gave a small chuckle. It was the same thing she always said to Jowan when he was being particularly mopey. He presented her with an uneven grin when she looked at him out of the corner of her eye. Her heart skipped a beat, and the queasiness in her belly gave way to the sensation of butterflies. She blanched.

 _What in the void?_

Although she found Alistair attractive, she had never experienced anything like that around him before. In fact, there was only one man who ever created such feelings within her. How was that even possible? She concentrated on the path ahead in an effort to push the thought from her mind.

"If I keep eating this shit," she retorted. "That could become a distinct possibility."

"I know what you mean," he agreed. "If it's true what they say about becoming what you eat, I'm liable to start oinking any minute."

"Don't you do that already?" quipped the mage.

"Only in my tent," the warrior replied. "Tends to put people off otherwise."

Solona snorted a laugh. It was a ridiculous sentiment, but between his delivery of the comeback and the fluttering in her stomach, she couldn't stop the sound from escaping. Her face began to grow overly warm as she felt her cheeks flush from embarrassment.

"Dear Maker, it's happened to you already," he exclaimed before snatching the piece of meat from her hand and flinging it into the dried grass next to the road. "There. We don't want you growing a snout. I don't think you could pull off that look. And the tail…that might get a bit painful when you go to sit down."

"Hey!" the mage protested with the arc of a brow. As disgusting as the pork was, she still needed nourishment. "Now what am I supposed to eat?"

The warrior flashed an impish grin as he reached into his pocket. A moment later, he produced a small pear with skin of pale green and dappled with light brown spots. After days of nothing but dried pork and hardtack, Solona was unable to recall anything that looked more delicious.

"Here," he offered as he handed the piece of fruit over to her. "I've been saving it for an emergency. I think this qualifies as one."

She accepted his gift with an appreciative smile and a quiet, "Thank you."

Alistair's gesture was one of the most considerate things anyone had ever done for her. Solona knew he had to be as fed up with travel rations as she was, yet he chose to give to her the only relief he had from the monotonous fare. For the first time in her life, someone showed her true kindness without any ulterior motive. Even Jowan was no exception to that.

Solona always felt that the affection he gave her was born from a lack of options more than anything. He had always been too timid to make any other friends. He wouldn't even talk to anyone else unless he was forced into it. Alistair, on the other hand, wasn't shy. He could have spent his time with Sithig or even Duncan, for that matter, but he opted to remain in her company.

"You are most welcome," he replied with a slight tilt of the head.

The mage pulled the dagger Duncan purchased for her from its sheath then carefully sliced the pear down the center. She wiped the blade across her sleeve before returning it to its holder then licked off the small bit of juice which had trickled onto her palm, earning her a chortle from Alistair. When she offered one of the halves to her companion, he declined with a wave of his hand.

"No thanks," he refused. "I don't really like pears. To be honest, I don't care for fruit much at all…Except for apples, of course. If that had been an apple, you'd be shit out of luck. I would have eaten it by now."

Solona's brow furrowed in bewilderment. "Then why in void did you have it in the first place if you weren't planning to eat the Maker fucking thing?"

His expression echoed hers. "You say that a lot, don't you? Maker fuck, maker fucking. Where in the void did you come up with that anyway?"

The mage's shoulders drooped with a heavy sigh. _Anders._ It was his favorite curse. For all his intelligence and arrogance, the older mage certainly maintained decidedly colorful and crass language at times, especially when he was irritated or angry. Over the years, Solona had adopted using such common idioms herself. It was a dreadful practice she really needed to stop.

"Bad habit I picked up in the Circle," she admitted. "I mean no offense."

She had no intention of going into further detail about it. She had already managed to skirt around the subject of Anders once with Alistair. Sooner or later, she was sure he would bring the subject of her former lover up again, but she didn't want to speak of him right then. She didn't really want to ever talk about him, especially not to her fellow Warden. She bit into one of the pear halves and began to chew.

"I'm not really offended," he told her. "Don't get me wrong. I've been known to throw fuck around like a bad tempered horse throws shoes, and I take the Maker's name in vain just about every time I open my mouth, but I've never heard the two used together like that before."

When she took another bite in lieu of answering his unasked question, he continued. "Don't take this the wrong way or anything, but most of the time you seem a little too articulate to use that kind of language."

Solona swallowed the mouthful she had been working on and arched a condescending brow. "That was a really big word for you," she gibed. "I hope you didn't hurt yourself."

He screwed up his face as she took another bite. "Come to think of it, that did smart a bit. I hope there's no permanent damage." His right shoulder lifted then promptly fell. "Oh, well. I suppose that's what I get for spending so much time with such an intelligent and beautiful woman."

The mage nearly choked on the fruit she was attempting to swallow. Was he actually flirting with her? Up until that moment, she had honestly grown to believe Alistair preferred the company of other men. She stopped in her tracks and turned to face him, causing him to halt his own progression. He stared down at her as if he hadn't said anything out of the ordinary. As usual, she detected no hint of lust or even affection in his hazel eyes, just a slight twinkle of mischief to match his impish grin.

 _Damn, you're sexy._

Those were the first words that came to mind, but she wasn't about to tell him that. Instead, she chose to dawn one of her haughty, questioning looks.

"Did you just call me beautiful?" she asked.

"And intelligent," he repeated. "Don't forget that part."

Her lids narrowed. "But you called me beautiful."

He shrugged, the smirk never leaving his lips. "Yes, I suppose I did," he said then began marching forward again. After a few steps, he peered at her over his shoulder. "You coming or are you just going to keep standing there with your mouth open like that?"

* * *

Alistair's grin widened as he continued along the highway. He didn't see any harm in a bit of flirtatious banter, and Solona's addled expression was worth any backlash he might receive from the deed. It wasn't as if he didn't care for her. Quite the contrary, actually. After the hour or so they spent talking the previous evening, his affection for her had grown immensely.

When the mage hurried to catch up to him, he internally recoiled from the coming repercussion of his earlier transgression. He was genuinely surprised when she remained silent, opting to take another bite of her pear instead. When he looked down at her, he could have sworn he detected the hint of a smile. Could her newfound disposition really have been a result of his flirting? Was it possible she shared his fondness?

It didn't really matter either way. For the first time since he met Solona, she appeared to be in a good mood. Before that, even when she smiled or laughed, there was always something sad and dark beneath the surface. There wasn't even a hint of any of that sort of emotion right then, and he had never seen her look more beautiful.

"You never did answer my question," she observed upon finishing the bite of fruit.

"Oh?" he asked. "Which question was that?"

"Why did you have a pear when you don't even like them?" she inquired.

He found a way to avoid her query before, but she obviously had no intention of letting it go. The truth was, he got it for her. He noticed her eyeing the fruit when they were back at the inn in Wenborne. After he had his bath that evening, he went downstairs and got the proprietor to agree to his request to take one. Alistair meant to give it to Solona before, but they hadn't really spoken until the night of her Joining. With the situation being what it was, he had forgotten all about the damned thing until he found it while packing up that morning.

"I told you," he said. "In case of an emergency."

"What kind of emergency could possibly warrant a pear?" she pressed.

"I had to have something to throw at the bandits if I ran out of hardtack. Even if it didn't knock them out, it could have served as a distraction." She raised a questioning brow. "I mean how would you react if some guy in Grey Warden armor threw a pear at your head? It would probably make you doubt his sanity, right? You'd think, _I'm holding a knife and that bastard just hit me with a piece of fruit. He's crazy. I'm not fucking with his ass_. At very least, you'd just stand there a minute and say, _What the fuck?_ Which would buy me enough time to run away. _"_

Before he finished his explanation, Solona was laughing so hard she had tears running down her cheeks. He couldn't help but chuckle along with her. When their laughter finally died down, the mage wiped away the tears with her fingertips. When she gazed up at him, he was taken in by her lustrous blue eyes. For the first time he noticed tiny flecks of gold peppered within the field of lapis, adding to the brilliance of the effect. Never in his life had Alistair wanted to kiss anyone so badly.

Her smile took on a sardonic quality. "So," she said. "Now that you've gotten _that_ out of your system, what's the real reason?"

 _Damn, woman. Let it go._

No matter how much he wished her to, she just wasn't going to let up without a plausible explanation, and an honest confession would be simpler than trying to come up with anything else. The warrior scratched the crown of his head and ran his tongue across his lips. He exhaled a relinquishing breath and shrugged.

"Truth is," he told her as he turned his eyes back to the road ahead. "I got it for you."

"Any particular reason why?" she asked.

Alistair wasn't about to tell her the truth on that point. At the time he obtained the fruit, he was suffering from a mild case of infatuation with a woman who had no interest in him. To make matters worse, his fondness for her had increased tenfold since that night.

"Mainly so you'd stop making that scowly face when you eat." He mimicked the expression she wore while gnawing on the dried pork. "Although, it might come in handy to scare away the darkspawn."

Solona's face wilted into disappointment for only a second before she donned her usual mask of indifference. He hurt her feelings. He hadn't intended to, but he did.

"I thought that's what we had you for," she retorted in a snarky tone. "Your ugly mug could frighten an archdemon."

. "That's my plan, you know," he japed. "When we finally face it, I'm just going to play a game of peek-a-boo with it, and it will die of shock."

She presented him with a half-hearted smile. He had to salvage the situation somehow. He sidled up to her until he was close enough to bump her shoulder with his.

"Oh, come on, you know your beautiful," he admitted. "You're beautiful, ravishing, stunning, gorgeous…You know all those things women hit men for if they don't say."

The corners of her mouth curled into a smirk as she returned his shoulder bump. "It's nice to see you finally noticed," she said. "I guess you're not quite as stupid as I thought, after all."

Two days later, the Wardens found their progress impeded by four different bands of darkspawn on their march through the cliffs toward Ostagar. The reality of what they would face when they arrived was finally beginning to sink in. There was at least another full day's march through the ridge before they reached the marshland surrounding the fortress, and another half day's trek to the crumbling ruin itself. It seemed the further south they traveled, the more aggressive and numerous their enemy grew.

Just after nightfall, Duncan found a small cave in the cliffside where they would bed down for the evening. The shelter wasn't cozy or warm by any means, but at least it was defensible and kept out the frigid wind blowing through the canyon. To prevent attracting unwanted attention, the Wardens' usual campfire was foregone in favor of several glowstones to light the inside of the grotto while they dined on their usual travel rations.

Sithig seemed to be taking it all in stride. He was a man who was obviously familiar with such primitive accommodations. Solona, on the other hand, appeared to be completely agitated. While the others ate their meager suppers, she paced near the entrance, throwing sidelong glares at Alistair every few steps.

The young warrior took his time in finishing his meal. He was certainly in no hurry to be reprimanded by the mage, especially when he wasn't sure what he did to raise her ire in the first place. Of course, the longer he stalled the impending scolding, the more cross she became. By the time Alistair finally approached Solona, she was fit to be tied.

"What in the Maker fuck took you so long?" she seethed.

 _Might as well get this over and done with._

"Did I do something wrong?" he questioned with a furrow of his brow. "Besides taking too long to eat, that is."

She heaved a perturbed sigh. "You promised to teach me to use a sword, remember? We're less than two days from Ostagar and you haven't done one thing to help me learn."

So that was it. She had remained practically glued to his side during every battle they had with the creatures that day, throwing lightening and an array of entropy spells at any hurlocks they encountered. The genlocks, which outnumbered their larger counterparts two to one, she left alone for Alistair to deal with. He thought the two of them made an effective team. She, on the other hand, apparently saw it differently.

"So, are you going to keep your word?" she continued after waiting for him to answer and not receiving a response right away. "Or am I going to be forced to brand you a liar?"

Alistair felt helpless to respond. He had every intention of teaching her, but he wasn't sure it was possible before they reached Ostagar. It wasn't exactly as if they had a lot of room to maneuver, and even if that weren't the case, the noise of clanging blades would surely garner any nearby enemies' attention. While he understood her concern, there was no way he could take that kind of chance with all of their lives.

"I wasn't lying to you, Solona," he explained. "I'll teach you if that's what you want, but this isn't exactly the best place to do it. Any sound we make will echo through this canyon. If the darkspawn hear it, they'll be on us like flies on shit. We might as well put out a big sign…assuming darkspawn can read, that is."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not an idiot, Alistair. I know how sound works. But I am a fairly talented mage, and I have ways of getting around that."

The warrior was genuinely curious. How in the Maker's name did one negate sound? He folded his arms across his broad chest.

"I'm listening."

"Why don't I just show you instead," she offered.

The mage closed her eyes and lifted her hands to the level of her chest. Her palms rotated outward as her fingers began to wiggle gently. Within moments, a large boulder near the entrance began to produce a low rumbling noise as it rose from the ground. It hovered a few inches in the air then slowly began moving toward the hole leading outside. A minute later, it settled back into the dirt in front of the doorway, covering the passage almost entirely, leaving only a few minuscule cracks for dim moonlight to seep through.

"Well, that should certainly help," he admitted. He still wasn't convinced the barricade would keep them from being heard.

"I'm not finished," she told him as she walked toward the rock.

With her finger, she traced a circle on the cavern wall around the outer edges of the boulder. As she worked, a series of complicated runes began glowing a faint green everywhere she touched. Alistair recognized it as a glyph of some sort, but he didn't know enough about the intricacies of magic to determine what it was used for. The only thing he recognized was the color, which denoted a spell of Creation.

When Solona was finished, she stepped back to admire her handiwork, but Alistair saw nothing but vague tracks in the dust. The mage shut her eyes again, and the former templar initiate felt the pull of the Fade surround her before directing the magic into the rock ahead. The cave was brightened by an eerie green radiance as the circle of runes she had drawn lit up, revealing the glyph in its entirety. After a few seconds, the incandescent symbol faded, leaving them in near darkness once more. He couldn't explain it, but the entire process fascinated Alistair.

"What was that?" he questioned.

She produced a smug grin. "A Glyph of Sealing," she replied. "It will prevent any sound from escaping the cave or entering it. It also seals the entrance from intruders. The only way anyone is getting through _there_ is if they break that boulder. If that happens, we're in more trouble than the five of us can probably manage."

"But won't that make it a bit hard to breathe in here?" Alistair asked while tugging at the collar of his shirt. He was already struggling with being in such a confined space. The realization that the way out was obstructed and that their only air supply had been closed off was beginning to make him feel faint.

"Air can still be transported through the seal," she explained. "As well as light. Just not sound or any type of physical properties." Her grin widened. "Don't worry, I have no intention of killing you. Not yet, anyway."

He scowled. "That's certainly a comfort."

Ignoring his cynical retort, Solona strolled over to where the other two men were engaged in conversation and grabbed the spare sword Alistair normally stored in his rolled tent while they traveled. It was far more unwieldly than his normal blade and not nearly as sharp, but he kept it just in case his favored sword broke in combat. The mage then retrieved a handful of glowstones from her pack and placed them along the wall of the entrance for light. When her task was complete, she turned to the warrior with a curt nod and brandished the blade before him.

"There," she said. "All set. Now you have no more excuses. What's first?"

Alistair couldn't help but chuckle at seeing her standing there trying to maintain what she perceived to be a fighting stance, gripping the handle of a sword she could barely hold. Waggling his head, he removed his own blade from its sheath then walked around to her right side.

"First of all," he told her as he removed the clunky weapon from her hand and replaced it with the more suitable one. "You'll never be able to learn anything with that piece of shit. The balance is all wrong, and you'll just end up with it planted in the ground if you're lucky, your toe if you're not."

He tossed the spare blade to the side then shifted her grip on the one in her hand so that sides of her index finger and thumb were against the guard. "Always hold it like this, close to the guard. It'll give you better control over your swings."

"That is a bit easier," she admitted as she made a slash to the air, but the movement made her wince. "Maker fuck!" she cursed. "It doesn't feel as if I'm going to drop it anymore while I'm just holding it, but this thing at the end hurts like a bloody bitch when it slams into your wrist."

"It's called a pommel," he explained while stifling a laugh. He recalled making the same mistake the first time a sword was put in his hand. The difference was, he dropped the blade when it happened to him. Knight Commander Glavin had been less than pleased with that response. The old templar made him repeat the movement so many times the boy thought his arm would fall off before Glavin finally taught him the proper way to grip the hilt.

Alistair intended to be a bit more understanding when instructing Solona. After placing his right hand over hers, he moved around behind her and pulled the weapon closer to her body. His breathing became labored as he drew her into him. He closed his eyes in an effort to calm his respirations as he wrapped his left arm around her lower bicep and grasped the half of the sword's guard which pointed toward the ground. He could feel the heavy rise and fall of her chest above his arms, prompting him to wonder if it was caused by pain or perhaps…No. He couldn't allow himself to consider such things, especially not while trying to teach her something so important.

 _Forget it, jackass. She's way out of your league. You know it. She knows it. So move on._

"If you tighten your entire hand around it," Alistair continued with his cheek pressed against hers. "The pommel will continue to dig into your wrist and your whole arm will go numb with pain after a while." He applied pressure to her second and third fingers. "But, if you keep the core of your grip with your two middle fingers and use the other two for balance…" He tugged on the guard enough to demonstrate the movement which allowed the pommel to move past the side of her wrist and slide across its center. "You'll find it easier to maneuver and you'll keep your arm from turning a lovely shade of black and blue."

Solona turned her face until their lips nearly touched. It would have only taken the tiniest advance to press his mouth to hers. Alistair's breath quickened as he mustered every ounce of fortitude he possessed not to close the gap and kiss her. He licked his lips, barely missing hers with his tongue.

"So," she whispered. "A bit like holding onto a cock while polishing the lamppost?"

The warrior's lids fluttered in genuine shock while her expression remained calm as if she hadn't said anything out of the ordinary. He felt a familiar stirring in his smalls when the image of his manhood parting her full lips invaded his brain. He jerked his head back and said the first thing that came to mind.

"Polished a lot of lampposts, have you?" he questioned with the arch of a brow.

"More than my fair share, I expect," she replied with a sly grin.

Alistair considered the meaning behind her words. He had expected her to answer with something like, "one or two" or "possibly ", not, "More than my fair share." Outside of prostitutes, most women would never admit to such a thing. He didn't think any less of her for it, of course. He always thought the double-standard when it came to the sexuality of men versus women was ridiculous. It did denote something very important, however. She was obviously experienced and had been with several experienced men. He was a virgin. Even if he somehow managed to convince her to begin a romantic relationship with him, she would never tolerate his sexual ignorance.

"That's…" he hesitated as he tried to think of an appropriate response while maintaining an unaffected expression. He ran his tongue across his lips. "Interesting."

Once again, he realized he said the completely wrong thing. Her smile faded as soon as the word left his mouth. She took a deep breath as she donned the façade of indifference she wore so well when attempting to hide her emotions. Her eyes, however, betrayed the truth she tried to disguise.

 _Way to go, jackass._

The warrior cleared his throat and pulled his pelvis back a few inches, praying she didn't feel the effect of her words.

 _Thank the Maker for armored tunics._

"Anyway," he resumed as he repositioned his hands. "The thing you want to remember is to keep your grip supple. It will make the blade come alive in your hand. You may even want to think of the pommel as a sort of fulcrum which the sword pivots around during the cut."

When she nodded to indicate she understood his explanation, he moved on. "A sword doesn't deliver its damage as it hits the target, but as it passes through." He moved the weapon around to demonstrate his impending statement. "It's all in the line that slants across and through the target and guiding the blade as freely and as quickly as possible along that imagined line.

"You'll cut best when you don't think too much about the target, but more about how the sword arcs through the space around you. Pick your target, picture a straight line through it, then guide the blade along that line as quickly and accurately as you can. As long as your grip remains agile, your attack should be effortless."

Solona stepped away from him and began slicing the air. "Like this?"

Alistair was actually impressed. While her swings weren't perfect, she seemed to have a good grasp on the subject at hand. With a little practice, she had the potential to be quite good. She was certainly doing better than he had with his first lesson.

For the next few hours, he showed her how to fade and lunge, advance and retreat, shed and thrust, pivot and step across, and most importantly, to him anyway, every guard position in his repertoire. When Solona told him she was too sore and tired to go on, they made their way to their respective bedrolls. Without even a moment's hesitation, the mage stripped off her boots and trousers. She didn't even turn around, which gave him a good view of the fact that she didn't wear smallclothes. His face flushed with embarrassment as he circled to remove his armor. By the time he placed his uniform on the ground, Solona was already tucked into her sleep sack, leaving Alistair to thank the Maker for small favors.

The other two Wardens were fast asleep before he and the mage decided to call it quits for the evening. Alistair wondered how the men could have possibly slept through all the clanging and clattering he and Solona were making until he noticed how loud Sithig's snores were as they reverberated off the cavern walls. After several minutes, Solona finally rolled over to face Alistair.

"How in the bloody void are we supposed to sleep with that infernal racket?"

The young Warden shook his head. "I don't know. It sounds like a wounded bronto with a head cold."

She laughed. "I don't think that entire band of darkspawn we fought just before nightfall made as much noise."

"At least that sound was more pleasant," he countered. "I'm seriously considering taking my chances outside."

The mage shivered. "It's a bit too cold out there for my tastes." She scowled as she peered around the chamber. "Actually, it's a bit too cold in here for my tastes, too."

Before Alistair realized what was happening, Solona stood up, grabbed her bedroll, and placed it next to his on the ground. When she lay down next to him and curled up to his body with her back against his chest, he thought he might have a heart attack. She then took hold of his hand and encircled her waist with his arm. He could feel her bare breast beneath the thin linen shirt with his forerm, and his manhood began to enlarge again.

"Do you mind?" she asked. "I'm freezing and this way we can generate some body heat."

He recalled the last time he slept next to her like that and the reaction she had, prompting him to shift his body where she wouldn't feel his erection pressing against her. It was uncomfortable as the void, but it was better than incurring Solona's wrath. She smiled at him over her shoulder.

"In the winter months, it would get so cold in the tower that Jowan and I would do this all the time."

"Jowan?" he questioned.

 _Probably another boyfriend._

"My best friend," she explained. "From the time I was five." She grimaced. "And no, it wasn't like that. We were just really close friends."

As he bobbed his head in understanding, Alistair couldn't help but wonder if Jowan ever found himself in the predicament he was in. Between Sithig's snoring and his raging erection, he was fairly certain he wouldn't be getting any sleep that night. After a while, when the mage's breathing evened out and Alistair was sure she was asleep, he placed a gentle kiss on her cheek.

"Goodnight, Solona," he whispered.

Her lips curled into a faint smile before softly murmuring, "Goodnight, Alistair."


	10. The Cavalier King

The following day, the bulk of Solona and Alistair's time was spent fighting off ever-increasing bands of darkspawn. To make matters worse, Alistair was reduced to using his spare blade so that Solona could wield his favored weapon. At first, he was reluctant to allow the mage to utilize his sword during battle, but she was insistent and after the comradery they shared the previous evening, he was afraid to muck things up by telling her no.

During their first encounter of the day with the creatures, the warrior ensured he was never more than a foot or two away from Solona's back, just in case she needed him. She impressed him with her ability to swing the blade effectively with one hand and cast spells with the other. She had obviously taken his lessons to heart and even began adopting her own fighting style. He still never strayed too far from her in the subsequent battles, but he was no longer as distracted by his worry over her safety.

By the time they found a cave for shelter at the edge of the cliffs, it was well past dark and everyone was too exhausted for conversation during supper. Because they were without another large bolder to use to seal the entrance to the cavern, Alistair was put on first watch for the evening. When he returned to his bedroll after Sithig relieved him, Solona was already fast asleep.

The next day was even more difficult than the last. The closer they got to Ostagar, the larger in number the darkspawn grew. It wasn't until the ruin finally came into view that they were able to relax a bit. The king's men and the Wardens who were already present had set up a perimeter around the old fortress leaving only a few small groups of stragglers here and there.

When they stepped through the broken archway, the four Grey Wardens were greeted by a face Alistair knew all too well. King Cailan was the picture of royal ostentation in massive, gold plated armor with black and red trim. The chestplate was adorned with the head of a dragon molded into its front, and the pauldrons were enormous, gaudy things which looked a bit like gigantic wings protruding out to the level of his ears. The bangs of his honey blonde hair were pulled back tight, held together by two small, perfectly woven braids on either side of his head. The remainder of his smooth tresses hung loosely down his shoulders and back. The haughty expression he wore when he stepped forward to greet them could have put Solona to shame. Overall, Alistair thought he looked like a first-class prig.

The king plastered on his best fake smile. "Greetings, Duncan," he exclaimed as he took the commander's wrist. "How fare you, my friend?"

Alistair had serious doubts that the pompous ass would be friends with anyone like Duncan. It was obvious he considered himself to be better than everyone around him. It was certain the king regarded himself as a better man than Alistair .

 _Still the same prat you were at twelve, aren't you brother?_

"I am doing well, your Majesty," the older Warden replied. "How goes the battle?"

Cailan flashed a toothy grin. "Very well," he answered "Very well, indeed. We've beaten the creatures back successfully every night, and I expect this evening's battle to be even more promising." He paused a moment to scan the faces of his soldiers. "We have the finest army in all of Thedas here, and with the mighty Duncan returned to lead the Grey Wardens at my side, we will be unstoppable."

 _Not just an ass, but an idiot to boot. Great._

The commander's face grew serious. "Your Majesty," he began, but Cailan was already breezing past him.

"And these are your new recruits?" the king questioned as he stopped before Sithig. His eyes slowly moved up the larger man's chest plate until they met the Avvar's. He was forced to crane his neck in the effort. "You're certainly a big one." He grinned back at his men. "Perhaps I should let him lead the charge and give those ogres a run for their coin." He returned his attention back to Sithig only to be greeted by a deep scowl. Cailan's smile widened as he clapped the Avvar on the bicep. "I jest, my friend. You are Avvar, correct?"

"Aye," Sithig replied, the grimace never leaving his face. "Leastwise I was born Avvar."

"The backbone of all of Ferelden," Cailan continued as if the larger man had said nothing. "The Avvar are a proud and noble race. I realize our peoples have our past differences, but I think we can put those aside to fight this menace together. Don't you…what was your name again?"

"Sithig," the behemoth grunted.

"Yes," the king grinned. "That was it."

 _He didn't even tell you before now. Maker fucking jackass._

Alistair couldn't keep the smirk from his face at that thought. Being around Solona was definitely beginning to rub off on him. He ran his tongue across his lips then clenched them between his teeth.

When Cailan stepped in front of Solona, the smile he wore transformed into a salacious leer. "Aren't you lovely?" he asked as he took her hand and placed a light kiss on her knuckles.

Not taken in by the king's attempt at charm, Solona's face contorted into a look of confusion. When the man's eyes slowly trailed up her body before meeting hers again, Alistair was ready to break his nose.

 _Quit ogling her you stupid fuck._

"It just occurs to me, I don't think I've ever seen a woman in the Grey Warden ranks before. I've seen pictures, of course, but none of those women were as ravishing as you," Cailan observed with a slight wink.

 _For the Maker's sake, can't somebody shut him the fuck up?_

Solona cocked a contemptuous brow. Alistair knew that expression all too well. She was most decidedly unimpressed.

"Is that so?" she questioned in an acerbic tone. Alistair shifted his weight to the balls of his feet in his excitement to witness the mage put the king in his place. "Your Majesty," she addressed him with an icy glare. "I am here as a Grey Warden. Nothing more, nothing less. I have fought through dozens upon dozens of darkspawn to get here. I am as hearty and as fit as any man on this field. No disrespect to you or your crown intended, but just because I happen to have breasts does _not_ mean I am some giggling girl to be taken in by your flirtatious words, smiles, winks, or kisses on the hand. So…Why don't you do us both a tremendous favor, and stop thinking of me as a woman and pretend I'm just another soldier ready to fight and die for my king? Hmm?"

Alistair had to stifle a laugh as he bit down harder on his lips. Duncan appeared to be absolutely appalled. He advanced to Cailan's side in two wide steps.

"I apologize, your Majesty," he said with a low bow.

Cailan just chuckled and waved his hand dismissively. "No need, Duncan. If the young lady…soldier fights as well as she hurtles insults, the darkspawn won't survive the night." His lids narrowed as he scrutinized the mage. "I don't believe I caught your name, however."

"It's Solona, your Majesty," she replied. "Solona Amell."

"From the noble House of Amell in the Free Marches?" he queried.

"Yes," she answered.

The king shook his head with a loud _tsk._ "Shame about the Amells, really. They were quite prosperous back in their day." Solona's face languished into somber confusion. Alistair discerned that whatever happened to the mage's family was unknown to her. Cailan clapped a fist to her bicep with a smug smile. "But don't worry, soldier. I'm quite sure you can bring honor back to the Amell name."

Alistair's fingers tightened into fists, and his chest began to rise and fall with short, labored pants. His jaw clenched in anger as his tongue slid across his lips.

 _You son of a bitch!_

The young Warden glared at the king when he stopped in front of him. He began to estimate how much time he would spend in the cage for knocking the prat on his ass. Even if he rotted in the damned thing, it might be worth it just to wipe that self-satisfied smirk off his brother's face.

Cailan studied the younger man for a long moment. Alistair could see in those steel blue eyes that the king was attempting to discern where he knew the Warden from. It wasn't as if the two men grew up together. Alistair had only met Cailan once, and that was nearly thirteen years before that day.

No one would have ever suspected Alistair was a prince of Ferelden, the youngest child of the late King Maric Theirin. Although he was a prince, he was never treated as one. From an early age, it was always made very clear to Alistair that he was nothing. Cailan was the rightful heir to the throne of Ferelden, and Alistair was just a bastard born of an indiscriminate affair their father had with a servant while visiting Redcliffe Castle. Even if the king did eventually recognize Alistair, he was sure Cailan would rather pretend his half-brother never existed at all.

"Ho, friend," the king said with an uneasy smile. "You seem very familiar to me. Is it possible we have met before?"

Alistair smirked, but there was no mirth in his hazel-green eyes. "Yes, your Majesty," he replied in an acrid tone. "In Redcliffe. Many years ago."

Cailan's lids constricted further. "I'm sorry, but I didn't get your name."

"Alistair," the young Warden answered.

The king's smile dropped and his blue eyes widened with awareness. He held the stare for only a few seconds before his expression changed to stone, then reverted back to a tight-lipped smile.

 _That's right, you smug bastard. Surprise._

Cailan shrugged in an attempt to play it cool and forced a slight chuckle. "Well, who knows? Anyhow, I am glad you are here. Every Warden is needed now, and I'm sure they will benefit greatly having you among their ranks."

"Thank you, I'm happy to have your approval," Alistair said with a caustic inflection as he flourished a garish bow. "Your _Majesty_."

* * *

As incensed as Solona was after her encounter with the King of Ferelden, it didn't compare to Alistair's foul mood. He was beyond agitated. He was downright angry. Something had happened just inside that archway the mage couldn't quite put her finger on. She considered that her companion's foul mood might have been a result of the king's treatment of her, but he seemed irritated before Cailan even spoke to Sithig.

The mage had every intention of getting the truth from her fellow Warden. Later. She knew well the expression he bore. It was one she had worn herself many times over the years. Usually, she didn't care how he would react to her questioning, but she wasn't stupid. She understood when to leave well enough alone, and as red-faced and huffy as Alistair was at that moment, she knew he needed both time and some space. He was a kind man, but he apparently had a tremendous temper.

By the time they reached the other side of the long bridge to the main part of the fortress, Alistair seemed to have cooled off a bit. Instead of stomping along, he was walking at a much more normal pace. His usual color had returned and his eyes had reverted to their typical shade of hazel-green from dark brown. When he turned to speak to her, however, he was still sulking.

"So, what did _you_ think of that little meeting?" he asked with an embittered tone.

Solona raised her left brow. "I think the man is a pig."

Alistair chuckled then displayed a sardonic expression. "He is royalty, you know," he reminded her.

"Then he's a royal pig," the mage stated, her expression unchanging.

Her fellow Warden snorted. "That may be the best description I've heard of him yet."

Against her better judgement, Solona decided to go ahead and inquire about Alistair's distaste for the king. "So may I ask what got you so wound up back there?"

His face became dark once again. "No," he replied before speeding his pace and walking away from her.

She considered following after him, but decided it really was best if she left him alone. Instead, she made her way to the quartermaster's tent on the other side of the camp, right where Duncan said it would be. The commander had given her half a sovereign that morning before they packed up to leave so she might buy her own sword. After using Alistair's, she knew just what to look for in a blade and exactly what she wanted.

After haggling with the man for more than fifteen minutes, she finally talked him down to a reasonable price and walked away with a brand new sword, a back scabbard, a handful of lyrium potions and a few coppers left in her pocket. On her way to find her companions, she was greeted by a man she didn't know dressed in the blue and grey.

"You're Solona, right?" he asked with a thick, rich Rivaini accent and a friendly smile.

The Warden wasn't an altogether unattractive man. He looked to be in his mid-thirties with a dark tan and black hair that curled into large ringlets an inch or so below his ears. The corners of his mouth and grey eyes were marked with deep lines from a mixture of hearty laughter and spending too much time in the sun. A long scar from an old gash ran across the left side of his scruff-covered square jaw. He wore the same plate and scale Alistair sported, denoting him as a warrior. Solona mused that he must have been a raider or mercenary in his former life. He just had that look about him.

"I am," she answered in her typical haughty tone.

"The commander asked me to fetch you," he explained. "We have to get you fitted for your uniform before the battle tonight."

Without waiting for any response from the mage, he pivoted on his right heel and walked toward a set of stone steps on her right. Solona fell in behind him, noting a slight limp in the man's gait as he made his way to the stairs, something most likely earned in one of the nightly battles against the darkspawn. As they ascended the steps, he addressed her from over his shoulder.

"I'm Tovi, by the way," he informed her. "We don't get a whole lot of gifted in the Wardens, so we have quite a few mage's uniforms in the stockpile. With your height, you should be fairly easy to fit with a few minor alterations here and there to allow for your curves."

For the first time since reaching adolescence, Solona was actually grateful for her statuesque build. At five feet nine, she stood several inches taller than most women in Thedas, a condition which she abhorred. In the tower, other women were forever asking her to reach for books on high shelves while she was perusing the library. Senior Enchanter Rachel was the worst offender. The old crone always opted for Solona's aid in obtaining the vials from the uppermost cupboards in her classroom in lieu of seeking the assistance of one of her male counterparts. But her biggest difficulty in regards to her stature came from Anders. It was well known in the tower that he preferred women far shorter than his six and a half foot frame. Solona couldn't count the amount of times she saw him give his most rapt attentions to females much smaller than herself. Subconsciously, she reached up and folded her fingers around the templar amulet nestled between her breasts upon the ideation of her former lover.

"That other one, though," Tovi continued. "He's going to be a lot more difficult. The tailor and the smith are going to have to work the rest of the afternoon to finish his on time. I just hope we have enough materials."

"So you're not a garment maker, then?" she asked.

He chuckled. It was not a caustic or sullen laugh inherent to most battle-hardened warriors, but clear and blithe like it came from someone who was genuinely content with his lot in life. Growing up in the Circle, it was a sound rarely heard by the mage from anyone over the age of eleven or twelve.

"Hardly," he replied. "I got wounded a few days ago, so I've been assigned light duty until my leg has a chance to recover. The healer they brought from Kinloch offered to help, but there are men far worse off than me that could use her attention. No need wasting good mana on such trifles."

Solona sped her pace so she could walk at his side. "You seem to know a great deal about mages," she observed. "Most mundanes don't have a clue what mana is."

The older Warden shrugged. "My gram was a healer. Saw her wiped out more than once from mana drain after a hard case. Nearly kill herself at times. She was a good one, my gram."

"So your grandmother was an apostate?" Solona asked with surprise.

"I suppose your Chantry would call her that," he replied with another shrug. "Things worked a bit differently back in Rivain. We never took much stock in the Maker or any such nonsense." He stopped and waggled his head before heaving a resolved sigh. "Sorry about that. I know mainlanders are usually devout folk. I didn't mean any offense by it."

Solona smirked. "Trust me, I am not offended. Personally, I think most of its rubbish myself."

Tovi nodded then continued his procession forward. "I should have known a mage from the Circle might see things a bit differently than the rest of these people."

Beyond the holding cages lay the Grey Warden encampment. Small tents akin to the one rolled up on top of Solona's pack were arranged in several neat rows with linear paths running between them. A wider walkway extended down the center, leading to a series of larger tents and awnings with canvas of blue and grey.

Tovi led Solona to one of the open coverings on the left where a bare-chested, burly man was engaged in flattening sheets of steel with a heavy smithing hammer out front. A blonde elf wearing a blue tunic bearing the image of a grey griffon on its front appeared from inside. In his hand, he carried a long, knotted, measuring rope and a clipboard with an inkwell attached to its top right corner. When he approached Solona, he grinned up at her, affording her a view of the prominent gap between his oversized front teeth.

"Spectacular!" he exclaimed in a high pitched voice before peering over at Tovi. "She'll be a lot easier to fit than the last one. Might as well ask me to sew a cover for a mountain.

"I'm not sure they didn't," the other man jested.

The elf chortled as he returned his attention to the mage. "Name's Senren," he told her as he began running the rope down the length of her right side. "This'll only take a minute."

Senren worked quickly and quietly, checking each measurement twice and writing the figures down on the parchment attached to the clipboard. When he finished measuring the mage's frame, he bent down and yanked her foot from her boot.

"Hey!" Solona shrieked as she caught her balance.

"Sorry," the elf apologized while stretching the rope across the side of her foot. "But you'll need new boots, too. These are just ghastly."

"Ugh," the mage groaned. "So I have to break in _another_ pair of boots?"

Senren gave a dismissive shrug as he penned several numbers. "Afraid so. It's all part of the uniform."

"Fine," she huffed. "When will the infernal thing be ready?"

"Yours should be relatively easy," he replied, "but the guy ahead of you is going to take a while." He pursed his lips as he concentrated a moment. "I'd say...late afternoon. Before dusk, of course, we can't have you fighting off all those darkspawn in…" He grimaced as he waved his hand up and down to indicate his distaste for her attire. "Whatever that is." He waggled his head with a tsk. "Where in Andraste's name? Darling, you should sue…seriously."

"She just had to fight her way through all those spawn to get here, Senren," Tovi informed him with a creased brow. "I'm pretty sure she doesn't care how she looks right now."

The elf rolled his eyes. "Of course she cares, Tovi. Didn't you notice the makeup?" He huffed an animated sigh. "You don't know the first thing about women, do you?

The Rivaini man flashed a toothy grin before smacking the elf on the buttocks. "Don't need to. My thoughts are too occupied with your ass."

Senren gave a playful slap to Tovi's bicep. "Don't tease, love. I have too much work to do."

The other man gave his lover a saucy wink. "Just giving you some ideas for later." He then turned to Solona. "Duncan wants you to meet him by the fire at the center of the main camp. Would you like for me to show you where it is?"

"No," she answered, attempting to stifle a chuckle. It's not that Solona thought there was anything particularly humorous about the exchange. The behavior of the two men didn't even surprise her. Maker knows Anders had his share of male lovers. It was just a bit odd to find such an enamored couple in the midst of such a terrible and gloomy place. In truth, she found it both refreshing and endearing.

She took a minute to regain her usual countenance. "I think I can find my way on my own."

"Fare thee well, then," Tovi said with a fist clapped to his heart. "Perhaps we shall meet again on the field of battle. Until that time, may the good spirits guide you."

The mage answered his salute with one of her own. The gesture felt entirely odd and foreign to her. It was an action she had witnessed the templars perform hundreds of times over the years, but she never imagined there would come a day she would imitate such a thing herself.

As she made her way back to the central part of the camp, it finally hit Solona like a ton of bricks. She was a soldier about to fight in a war against vile and horrendous creatures with no ambition beyond the destruction of everything in their path. A gnawing, twisting pain churned in her gut. This was real, and there was no turning back.

* * *

Alistair was extremely irritated when he left Solona, not with her, but with the entire situation in general. It wasn't his intention to be cross with the mage, but he definitely didn't want to answer her question about Cailan. How would he even begin to tell her about his family and the secret he kept hidden from nearly everyone he knew? What would she say if she ever found out the truth?

The young Warden climbed a set of stairs leading to a more secluded part of the ruin and found a relatively quiet spot to sit where he could be away from prying eyes. He pressed his shoulders to the stone at his back and closed his lids with a heavy sigh. The glacial blast of a Ferelden winter wind fluttered through his sandy blonde hair, carrying with it flurries of fat snowflakes which stuck to his lashes and eyebrows. He ran his tongue over his lips and inhaled a deep breath which burned in his lungs so badly, he thought they might burst. As excruciating as it was, at least it took some of the pain from his head.

After only a few brief moments, his peace was disrupted by a tap on his shoulder. Alistair opened one eye just enough to be greeted by the sight of a skittish elf dressed in rags sporting flaming red hair. The young man fidgeted with his tunic as he endeavored a hesitant smile.

"E…excuse me, s…ser Warden?" he stammered. "I…I don't mean to b…bother you, ser, but I have a message for you."

The warrior's brow creased in confusion. "For me? Who in the void is looking for me?"

Alistair knew Duncan wanted to meet with him and his other two companions, but Solona and Sithig both needed to be fitted for their uniforms first. He thought he would be able to at least have a few moments to himself. Maybe Solona was finished with her meeting with the garment maker and was looking for him.

The elf held out a rolled up piece of parchment for the Warden to take. "I was just told to find you and give you this."

"Are you sure you have the right person?" Alistair asked.

"Y…you _are_ Alistair…aren't you?" he inquired. His hand trembled so badly, the Warden thought the elf was going to lose his grip on the missive to be carried off on the breeze.

"I am," the warrior answered. He forced the most cordial smile he could muster in attempt to put the young man at ease. "And you are?"

"P…Pick, ser," he stuttered.

"Well, Pick," Alistair said as he took the vellum from the elf's hand. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." He peered down at the parchment before addressing the other man again. "And who was it that gave you this message to deliver to me?"

"Why…the king, ser Warden."

 _What the fuck? He probably wants to bitch at me away from the prying ears of his men._

Alistair grimaced as he broke the unadorned seal on the parchment. His tongue raked across his lips as he unfurled the scroll. Scratched into the vellum in haphazard scrawl were only three short sentences.

 _Meet me in my tent. It's important. Come alone and don't let anyone see you enter._

The warrior was infuriated. How dare Cailan order him about like that? He wasn't some mindless soldier there to follow his brother's every whim and command. He was a Grey Warden, dammit.

Alistair crumpled the paper in his fist and drew back his arm to hurl it past the columns to his right, but Pick leapt in front of him. "If you please, ser. I'll take that for you."

 _Trying to hide the evidence, eh brother?_

"Fine," the Warden snapped as he threw the wadded up scroll to the ground at his feet and stomped away.

Normally, Alistair would have felt guilty about treating an elf that way. About treating anybody that way, but he was too angry for contrition at that moment. If it was Cailan's intention to berate him, Alistair was going to give it back to his brother tenfold. He held his temper when the king insulted both of his companions, but he was going to have it out with the man now that he decided to press the issue.

When he reached Cailan's tent, he found the two guards stationed outside had their backs to the entrance. After taking a quick look around to ensure no one was watching, Alistair threw back the flap and barged inside. He was surprised by the king's contrite smile as he took a tentative step forward.

"I'm glad you're here, brother" Cailan said in a sincere tone. "I wouldn't have blamed you if you hadn't come after I made such an ass of myself earlier."

Alistair's brow arched in bewilderment. "What do you want?" he asked, his words sounding far less harsh than he meant them to be.

"How have you been?" he asked.

The younger man licked his lips and exhaled a long, slow breath. "You can skip the pleasantries, Cailan. We may have the same father, but we've never spoken once in our entire lives. The only other time we even laid eyes on each other, you ignored me to go play with Eamon's sword collection. So why don't we cut the bullshit and just tell me why I'm here?"

The king nodded. "I understand why you're angry. I don't blame you. The way father just dumped you in Redcliffe…"

Alistair felt a sharp pain erupt in his guts. The memories of his childhood were things better left forgotten. He only wished it were that simple. From the time he could remember until the age of ten, he slept on the hayloft floor of the stables at Castle Redcliffe.

Arl Eamon was charged with the care of the young prince when he was still a baby. That care came in the form of apathy and neglect. Sure, the arl arranged for him to be fed and clothed, but the food more often than not came in the form of gruel, stale biscuits, and substandard pieces of meat, and the clothes little more than tattered rags. Baths were reserved for only two or three times a year in the late spring and summer months when the stench of horseshit on his clothes and skin would get so bad that the stablemaster started to complain. He was forever plagued by lice and fleas, and he felt the sting of his overseer's riding crop on a daily basis for the most minor of offenses. So many nights as a young boy, he cried himself to sleep knowing that no one loved or even cared about him. He was always unwanted and alone.

The closest thing he ever had to a friend was Jenna Cousland, who delighted in beating him every chance she got until he begged for mercy. Jenna was a few years older than Alistair, and each time her family would visit Castle Redcliffe, she made it a point to seek the young stable boy out and thrash him mercilessly. It wasn't until a few days before he was shipped off to Bournshire monastery that she finally treated him like a person instead of a punching bag. Even then she ended up breaking his nose when he attempted to kiss her, which accounted for the permanent crook to the right along the bridge to the tip.

Alistair glared at his older brother. How dare he say he understood what the younger man went through? Cailan couldn't even fathom the anguish and abuses he suffered. The Warden folded his arms over his chest and ran his tongue across his lips before biting down on the lower one. He blinked against the sting of tears forming in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," the king apologized. I didn't mean to upset you."

"I'm fine," Alistair managed in a hoarse whisper.

Cailan sighed. "The reason I called you here was to warn you. As you are probably aware, Loghain was father's best friend and my father by marriage, but I am afraid I have raised his ire. My marriage to Anora was always political, nothing more. She knows it, I know it, and Loghain certainly knows it, so the man holds no love toward me in that capacity."

The king began to pace as he continued. "This Blight…I'm afraid we have no hope of winning against these creatures without outside help. Oh, I'm very good at putting on a show for my troops, telling them that we're beating back the spawn in droves. The reality is, the numbers don't lie. We are losing men by the dozens with every single battle, and twice that have been wounded. I've called for aid from every southern nation in Thedas, but so far, the only one who has given any response is Orlais."

Alistair's anger was forgotten upon hearing his brother's words. Their father and Loghain were instrumental in driving the Orlesians out of the country at the beginning of the age. Was Cailan really willing to risk an alliance with them?

"But couldn't that lead to another occupation?" he questioned.

"That's what Loghain believes," the king replied. "And he's fit to be tied about it, but I don't know what else to do. I don't want another occupation any more than anyone else…which is why I have been in negotiations with Celene…to arrange a marriage between the two of us."

The space between the Warden's brows disappeared. "But you're already married."

Cailan nodded. "Yes, but as I said, it's a marriage born of politics. Anora and I have been married for seven years and we have as yet to produce an heir. According to Ferelden law, if a queen has not bore a child by the fifth year of marriage, the king may divorce her in favor of a more suitable and fertile spouse."

 _Lovely way to speak of your wife. Like she's some kind of brood sow. Prat._

"Don't you understand, brother?" the king asked, his steel blue eyes pleading. "I have to do something, or Ferelden will be lost. If that means I must marry Celene to cement an alliance so that I might gain the Orlesian forces, then that's what I must do."

Alistair shrugged. "Fine, but what does any of this have to do with me?"

"I believe your life is in danger, just as much as mine, maybe more so," he explained. "Because of my negotiations with Orlais, I believe Loghain is staging a coup." Cailan's expression became pensive and sad. "I just received word by raven this morning that Arl Howe of Amaranthine took his men to Highever and slaughtered the entire Cousland family, save Fergus who is here at Ostagar."

The Warden's breath caught in his throat at that tidbit of news. He could see by the look on his brother's face that he knew the truth of a lie perpetrated by good men who put the political health of the country above the happiness of their family. Years before, when Alistair was thirteen, Jenna came to visit him at the monastery and revealed to him a secret he swore he would never tell. At sixteen, she was pregnant with Cailan's child, and her father was forcing her to go with her brother and his wife to live with relatives in Antiva until after the baby was born. When Jenna, Fergus, and Oriana returned, Jenna had no child, but Oriana announced she had given birth to a baby boy with steel blue eyes.

"Does Fergus know?" questioned the Warden.

The lines in Cailan's face deepened, making him appear much older than his twenty-five years. "Loghain sent Fergus and some of his men out into the Wilds around dusk yesterday evening to scout out the position of the darkspawn. They never came back. I fear Fergus is lost."

"So everyone who might have known about Jenna's child is missing or dead?"

"Yes," the king affirmed.

It was horrible news. All of it. Although Jenna was cruel to him for most of his childhood, on her last visit to Redcliffe, they spent nearly a week being friendly to each other for once. She brought him meals to the stable every day at lunch then they would spend the remainder of the afternoon talking. It wasn't until the final day of their stay that she broke his nose. Alistair often wondered if her kindness was brought about by the knowledge that he was going to be sent to the monastery the day after his father and the nobles left the castle.

The memory of Jenna and the compassion she showed to him finally forced a tear down Alistair's cheek. He sniffled before running his tongue over his lips. Before he could speak again, he was impelled to clear the lump from his throat with a cough.

"You still haven't told me where I come into all this," he managed.

"It is my belief that Loghain is trying to destroy the Theirin bloodline. If I die, without another Theirin to take the throne, the crown will automatically go to Anora. Our father and grandmother fought too hard to allow that to happen. We must ensure Calenhad's line doesn't end with me. With us."

Alistair waggled his head. "I don't want to be bloody king." He donned a sardonic expression. "Oh wait. That's right. I was told it was never going to happen. Perhaps I should remind _you_ of that little tidbit of information. It's. Never. Going. To. Happen."

"You may not have a choice, brother," Cailan said.

The younger man could feel his anger beginning to boil again. "How about this instead. You don't die and I get to spend the rest of my shortened life as a Grey Warden?"

The king exhaled a long breath, obviously fed up with his brother's poor attitude. "I have no intention of dying this night or any other. Not until I'm an old man lying in my own comfortable bed. I just wanted to warn you. I don't trust Loghain and neither should you. I don't know if he has yet realized who you are, but just in case, I urge you to be cautious."

"Noted," Alistair retorted. "Now, if there's nothing else, _brother,_ I have duties to return to."

Cailan's face altered to a mask of indifference, reminding the Warden of Solona. As much as Alistair hated the guise on her, it was certainly more preferable to the king's. The younger man spun on the ball of his left foot to head for the exit, but a hand on his shoulder stopped his progression.

"Wait," Cailan said as he pulled a silver chain from around his neck. At the end dangled a large, key of the same metal. "I want you to take this…just in case."

Alistair examined the object for a moment before giving his brother a questioning grimace. "What's it for?"

The king pointed to a trunk sitting against the back wall of the tent. "It's a key to the royal arms chest. I have already placed father's sword inside. If something should happen to me, I don't want Loghain or his men to get their hands on it. It belongs in the family. _If_ the worst occurs, it will be yours."

Alistair wanted to tell Cailan that he would rather get his foot chewed off by a rabid mabari than touch that sword. He wanted to tell his brother to fuck off and go to the void. But he didn't. He simply bobbed his head and pulled the chain over his neck then tucked the key inside his tunic.

"Thank you," the king said. "Now, I will exit first. Wait a few minutes, check through the flaps to make sure no one is watching, then leave."

Cailan didn't wait for a response, but blew past the Warden to the canvas doorway. Once he was gone, Alistair removed the key from his shirt and stared at it for a long moment.

 _What in the Maker's name have you gotten yourself into now, jackass?_


	11. The Witches

Just as the toe of Solona's boot landed on a large patch of dirt at the bottom of the stairway, she heard a familiar voice call her name. It was not a welcome sound. Since arriving at Ostagar, she had made it a point to avoid the mages stationed there. She really didn't want to be forced to explain why the First Enchanter's prized student was now a Grey Warden. As far as she was concerned, she didn't owe any explanation to anyone, especially not her former teachers. And most especially not that one.

She turned her head to behold the form of an older woman with silver hair pulled into a tight bun at her crown. She wore red and gold robes, designating her as a senior enchanter and instructor in the Circle. She approached the Warden with her usual purposeful gait. A low groan escaped the young mage's lips at the sight

"Solona, my dear," the older woman greeted with a cordial grin. "I didn't expect to see you here. I take it your Harrowing went well, then?"

"Good afternoon, Senior Enchanter," the young mage replied wearing her usual detached expression. "And yes, I passed my Harrowing nearly two weeks ago."

"I'm surprised Irving allowed you to leave the tower so soon," she confessed with a sense of mild disbelief.

"He didn't exactly _allow_ it, Senior Enchanter," Solona explained. "I have been conscripted by the Wardens."

The older woman scowled as she folded her arms over her chest. "Is that so?" she questioned. "I must confess, I would have thought the Grey Wardens would choose someone older and more experienced if they were to use the Right of Conscription."

 _Please don't bring him up. Please don't._

"When it comes to mages, they typically reserve the Right for the exceptionally gifted." She flashed a feigned apologetic smile. "I'm not saying you aren't exceptional, dear, but considering you _just_ passed your Harrowing. With the Blight looming over us, and given the amount of injuries the Wardens sustain during such a time, I naturally assumed they would rather conscript a healer."

 _For the Maker's sake, you old crone. Just spit it out. I know exactly what you're implying._

Solona reached for the amulet at her chest and began thumbing the sword and flames etched on its surface. Anders was always Wynne's favorite student. Through careful study and a passion for not only healing magic but medicine in general, his skills eventually surpassed that of his teacher's. Like most of the instructors at Kinloch, Wynne was prone to take credit for Anders' accomplishments, citing her own carefully crafted lessons as the reason for his exceptional talent.

Most saw the enchanter as a benevolent, grandmotherly type, a façade Wynne liked to maintain. Solona, however, knew better. The older woman exhibited a sense of false humility, pretending to pish-tosh away any accolades she received from her fellows regarding her students' achievements. In truth, she reveled in it.

To make matters worse, Wynne had a tendency to take male apprentices under her tutelage into her bed. Anders was probably the only exception to that rule, but it was not for lack of trying on the enchanter's part. Though the younger healer would bed nearly every female mage in the tower between the ages of seventeen and thirty, he simply never cared for the company of older women. Since Solona had become Anders' favored lover over the preceding six years, it created a definitive rift between the two women.

Solona exhaled a perturbed sigh. "Anders is still in the dungeons, Senior Enchanter," she reminded the elder mage. "I doubt the Grey Warden commander even knew he was there."

Wynne's brow creased. "Yes, I suppose you're right. That would certainly be the _only_ reason you would have been chosen over him." She paused to gauge the younger woman's expression, which had evolved into an icy glare. A self-satisfied smirk played at the corners of the older mage's lips. "As I said, you are very talented, dear, but you are far too young and inexperienced in the use of practical magic."

"I've managed so far," Solona informed her.

"Yes, I'm sure you have," Wynne retorted. She shifted her weight onto her left hip. "So you are a Grey Warden now? Pledged to fight alongside the king. Quite the feat for someone just out of her apprenticeship. I only hope you remember to maintain the ideals and propriety of a mage of the Circle."

 _Yes. Backstabbing. Dishonesty. Disloyalty. Promiscuity. We are a pious and enviable lot._

The young woman presented the elder mage with a tilt of her head and a painted on smile. "Of course, Senior Enchanter. I could never forget the lessons a lifetime in the Circle has taught me."

"We could probably do without the formalities, however," the other woman offered. "Now that you are no longer my student, you may call me Wynne."

"That's very kind of you, Wynne," Solona said with another bow of her head, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

The enchanter's eyes fell upon the amulet the younger woman was still clutching in her hand. She took a step forward and ran her fingers down the chain. "May I?" she requested.

"Of course," Solona replied as she let go of the trinket and dropped it into the other woman's palm.

Wynne's eyes narrowed as she studied the tiny shield bearing the templar insignia. Her thumb grazed across the small sword and flames. The younger woman thought she denoted a glimmer of sadness reflecting in the elder enchanter's blue-grey eyes. The older mage drew a long, uneven breath.

"I had one of these myself, once," she confessed. "A very long time ago." She released the amulet and took a step back. The expression she wore was no longer condescending, but one of general concern. "I urge you to use caution, Solona." She pointed to the tiny shield and her tired eyes began to glisten. " _That_ carries a heartbreak with it unlike any you have ever known. Some affairs are never meant to be."

Solona's brow creased. She was aware of the rumors about Wynne carrying on with a templar in her youth. It was even said a child was produced from the liaison. There was also speculation about who the Chantry knight had been, but Solona scarcely believed that story. Knight Commander Greagoir hated everything about mages. There was no chance he was the one involved with the enchanter.

"Anyway," Wynne said with a small sniffle as she straightened her posture. "I am sure you have your Grey Warden duties you must attend to, and I have my own tasks to mind." She offered a terse nod. "If you will excuse me."

With that, the enchanter spun on her heel and strode away. Solona tucked Cullen's amulet into her shirt and blinked back the tears trying to form in her eyes. As stalwart as the young mage felt while descending the great stone staircase, she was left vulnerable and forlorn after speaking with Wynne.

 _Maybe she's right. Maybe I'm not cut out for this. I've certainly made a mess of everything else in my life._

She turned to resume her progression to the central fire where Duncan was waiting, only to see Alistair coming from the area of the royal encampment. Her breath hitched in her throat, and her stomach was filled with the sensation of a hundred butterflies flittering around inside. A small smile curled her lips. Then she heard his voice in her head. Four words. Four simple words were all it took to shut out every doubt and every fear.

 _Hey, you've got this._

* * *

Alistair wasn't sure if he was more angry, tired, or distraught when he exited Cailan's tent. The news of Jenna's death hit him harder than he let on. In his entire life, up until Duncan conscripted him anyway, there were only two people he considered friends. Jenna Cousland happened to be one of them. Although he hadn't seen her in years, her memory remained one of the bright spots in his dismal existence. Now she was gone.

If that weren't bad enough, speaking to Cailan forced him to consider a possible future he wanted absolutely no part of. Alistair was content with a life of service to the Grey Wardens. He had finally found a place where he felt he belonged. He was raised a stable boy, little better than a slave. How could anyone expect him to go from that to being a king?

Alistair had no knowledge of governance or politics outside the fact that every nobleman he ever met was a complete and utter prat. For the Maker's sake, he didn't even learn to read until he was eleven. Not only that, but he didn't have the ability to lead a small squad, let alone an entire country. The two times Duncan put him in charge of anything, he mucked it up completely and even got a man killed in the process. Surely there was a way out of the mess he would find himself in if Cailan's fears became reality.

He supposed he could run. Slip away while no one was looking. No, he couldn't. Even if he could get past all the darkspawn surrounding the old fortress, Alistair would never forsake Duncan's faith in him in that manner. Maybe he could just keep his existence a secret, at least that one little detail about it. Only a handful of people knew about his lineage-Duncan, Cailan, Eamon, the arl's younger brother Teagan. He wasn't even sure Loghain was aware Maric had a second son.

 _Of course he knows, jackass. Maric was his best friend._

But if those who knew couldn't find him...He could disappear into the Grey Warden ranks and be just another soldier. Duncan would never tell anyone. Would he? The nobles could just name someone else as king. That was probably a better option, anyhow.

 _We must ensure Calenhad's line doesn't end with me. With us._

Cailan's words echoed in Alistair's head. How could he turn his back on a responsibility handed down to him from over four hundred years ago? Then again, how could someone like him be expected to rule Ferelden?

Alistair's head was throbbing from all the thoughts swirling around in his mind. He felt completely drained from the tremendous weight that was sinking onto his shoulders. The reality of his potential future was too much for the young Warden to bear. His chest felt heavier with every labored breath as he drown in despair and involuntary obligation.

As he walked toward the central fire, he turned his glistening eyes toward the steps leading to the Grey Warden encampment, and the hope he considered lost shined from the darkness once more. He found his faith, his strength in the lapis blue eyes staring back into his. Though his heart still pounded, the sensation was no longer one of pain, but joy upon seeing the one person who could brighten his whole world with a smile and turn his bones to jelly with a glare. The embodiment of beauty and conviction. The one who had captivated his senses and captured his soul.

 _Damn! I guess I really am in love with her after all._

* * *

Solona bore an expression of utter disgust as she peered down at her wet boots. The muck from the marsh water surrounding her feet was overly warm and slimy. As much as she had despised the notion of breaking in another pair, she was grateful a dry new set would be waiting for her when they returned to the main fortress. If they ever returned.

It had been at least two hours since Duncan sent her, Alistair, and Sithig out into the Wilds to retrieve some documents from a chest in an abandoned tower. They fought their way through several bands of darkspawn until they came to several tall, crumbling columns arranged in a circle with a set of stone steps leading to nowhere near the back. It hardly resembled a tower at all, but Alistair swore it was the right place.

When they stepped through a large gap between the columns that appeared to be the remnants of an arched doorway, they found the chest the commander spoke of. There was only one problem. The chest looked like a band of ogres used it as a ball in a spirited game of wallop. It was utterly dilapidated and completely empty.

"Dammit!" Alistair bellowed as he landed the sole of his boot to the side of the metal box, toppling it over. "Doesn't anything ever go right when that man puts me in charge?"

"Alistair," Sithig interjected in a low, even voice. "Calm yourself, my friend. The night-gangers are still lurking."

The younger warrior licked his lips, ran his hand over his sandy blonde hair, and then proceeded to stomp on the chest three more times. It was obvious there was something a lot more than missing documents vexing him. Solona surmised it had something to do with King Cailan, but she couldn't hazard a guess to what it might be. When he turned to face her, his hazel eyes were dark and glistening.

"Do you feel better now?" the mage asked in her typical haughty tone.

He limped forward a step. "Not really," he confessed. "My whole leg hurts like a bitch."

"'Tis what happens when a fool chooses to batter a large metal object with his foot," echoed a voice from above.

A moment later, an ebony haired woman appeared at the top of the stairway. As she made her descent, the strips of her skirt, fashioned from varying lengths of black leather belts, swished around a pair of high boots covered with silver buckles. On top, she wore what appeared to be nothing more than a silk, crimson scarf draped low across her abdomen exposing a great deal of her ample breasts. Those were barely covered by triangular pieces of cloth held together with a series of long strings. A black leather sleeve on her left arm extending from her wrist to her shoulder ended in a pauldron of long raven feathers. Her right bicep sported a wide leather band, and a fingerless glove graced her hand up to the lower half of her forearm.

Fringes of pin straight dark hair curtained her face, while the remainder of her locks were kept bound in a bun at the back of her head with several wild strands escaping its coil. Her eyes were heavily shadowed with rust colored powder, and thick kohl lined her eyes. The odd woman's full lips curled into a cat like smirk as she looked down on the strangers in her midst.

"Well, well," she said, a hint of arrogant amusement in her voice. "What have we here?"

Solona folded her arms over her chest and rested her weight on her right hip as she donned a bored expression. "Quite an entrance. Very dramatic. Am I supposed to be impressed?"

"Use caution, my friend," Sithig warned. "Witches are trouble, and we have that enough in dealing with the night-gangers."

Solona had read stories of the witches of the Wilds. Legends of dark women stealing children for their suppers abounded among the Chasind peoples. It was hogwash, of course, at least as far as the young mage was concerned.

"She's probably just a Chasind," Alistair said with a shrug. "Nothing to worry about."

The peculiar woman took a step toward him. "Chasind, hmm? And are you not afraid a horde of barbarians will swoop down upon you?"

When she said the word, "swoop," she raised her arms high in the air and lurched the top half of her body toward Alistair, like a bird preparing to attack its prey. He flinched at the gesture then wiped his hand across his face before arching a sardonic brow.

"Yes," he said. "Swooping is _bad_ , but would you mind not spitting on me next time? It kind of takes away from the whole crazy, weird talking witch thing you're going for. Quite disgusting, to be honest."

The woman harrumphed and turned her attention to Solona. "Your pets are boring, but you…I have watched your progress for some time. 'Tis not often I see a woman leading men about. A most welcome sight."

"What can I say?" Solona retorted in an acerbic tone. "I live to impress."

The witch donned a smirk. "I like you. Shall I guess your purpose, then? You sought something in that chest? Something that is here no longer?"

"Let me guess," Alistair interjected. "You stole the contents and now you plan to hold them for ransom. I hate to break it to you, but we're all tapped out."

"Tell me," she queried. "How does one steal from dead men? This place is no better than a desiccated corpse, long since picked clean."

Alistair heaved a sigh and shook his head. "She's just toying with us. We should go."

Sithig clapped a large hand over the smaller warrior's shoulder before Alistair could take a step then addressed the witch. "I cannot say what else was in that chest. But there were papers important to the Grey Wardens. You would do us a great service in returning them."

She glowered at the large man. "I will not. For 'twas not I who removed them. Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer if you wish. I am not swayed."

Solona's eyes narrowed as she weighed the other woman's words. "But you know who did."

The witch's smile returned. "My, but you are the intelligent one. 'Twas my mother, in fact."

"Then take us to her," Alistair demanded. His tone was flat and even, but the threat in his eyes was unmistakable.

"I do not take orders from you," she scoffed then spun on her heel to leave.

"Please," Sithig beseeched. "We need those papers before we can return to the fortress. Your aid would be most welcome."

The witch peered up at him over her shoulder. Her eyes narrowed in contemplation for a long moment before she presented the Avvar with a smile.

"Now _there_ is a sensible request," she said before addressing Alistair. "You would do well to learn from your friend." She took a few strides forward. "Follow me, then, if it pleases you."

As they fell in step behind her, the witch addressed them once more, her attentions never straying from the road ahead. "I am Morrigan, if you were inclined to ask, and I advise you to employ prudence when dealing with my mother. She is not nearly as patient as I."

* * *

Morrigan strode with purpose as she led the Wardens across a tree-lined path. It seemed odd to Alistair that the timber was so thick there, considering how sparse it had been everywhere else in the marsh surrounding Ostagar. To make matters worse the coppice grew denser the further down the narrow road they ventured. The wood itself was unsettling enough, but the grey mist that began curling around their legs when they entered the copse gave the entire place a sense of foreboding that they were all advancing to their doom.

A chill winter wind blew through the leaves of the surrounding forest, causing them to quake and quiver. It was odd to see green within the trees at that time of year. As troublesome as that fact was, even more disquieting was the sound of eerie clacking of heavy, hollow sticks being tapped together echoing on the breeze. The young warrior chanced a glimpse into the tops of the tall trees and gasped when he spied skulls of humans and varied animals dangling from long, frayed ropes among the branches. A conglomerate of short, broken twigs and feathers of differing birds decorated the bones, held in place by clumps of mud.

Alistair turned his eyes to the path ahead in an attempt to ignore the macabre embellishments and the rising sense of terror creeping up his chest. At the end of the lane, through the ever thickening fog, he could make out the outline of a small hut, battered by time and the harsh southern Ferelden climate. As they drew nearer, he began to see the heavy brown moss and old branches used for the roof, and the abundant vines of deep green ivy overtaking the outer walls.

The sensation of gooseflesh prickling the Warden's arms caused the hair to stand on end as the crackling of magic, ancient and unfamiliar, encompassed the very air around them. Alistair shivered against a chill born more of revulsion and fear than the cold.

The clattering grew louder the further they ventured toward the hovel, citing both larger and a greater number of bones hanging from the trees in ever deepening shadows. Against his better judgement, the warrior chanced a glimpse above and his stomach tied in knots at the sight of entire skeletons swinging throughout the branches.

"What the fuck?" Solona muttered, expressing the exact words Alistair was thinking.

Morrigan ignored the young mage as she continued forward. Ahead of her, in the clearing, the fog seemed to settle more to the ground. Standing before a fire pit was the dark figure of an old woman who appeared to be warming her hands. Her hair was the color of cotton with unruly strands projecting out in every direction. The robes she wore were fashioned from dark leather and furs, which were covered by an elegant, skillfully-stitched heavy cloak embellished with brown and rust colored fur at its edges.

When they finally stepped into the glade, the ancient woman looked up from the flame. She regarded the intruders with beady, yellow eyes, which sank deep into her skull. The bridge of her narrow nose and hollow cheeks were mottled with patches of dark red, as if she spent years in the sun resulting in a burn that would never fade. Her thin lips were set in a pursing frown with deep lines etched all around them.

The atmosphere surrounding her pulsed with magic, as if the very air were alive with it. A sharp pain shot through Alistair's head, forcing him to close his eyes against the anguish it caused him. Once again, the image of dark buildings set on a faraway, sundered mountain accosted his brain. His entire body vibrated with the ebb and flow of the tide of power washing over him. The world around him began to spin and tumble out of control as wisps of shadow began to circulate and envelop him.

 _No!_ he screamed into the darkness, but no sound escaped his lips.

The warrior pried his eyes open against the unseen force holding them shut, only to be greeted by the old woman's raptor-like gaze. Her lids narrowed as she scrutinized the young man, burning a hole into the very core of his being. After a moment, the hint of a wicked smirk curved the rugose corners of her mouth.

"Mother," Morrigan addressed the crone. "I bring before you three Grey Wardens who…"

"I can see who they are girl," the old sorceress interrupted, her voice creaking like a rusty hinge. "I have eyes."

As she shambled around the pit, knocking over a neatly arranged pile of small, moldy bones, Sithig took a step forward, placing his large frame between his fellow Wardens and the old woman. He held his large battleaxe at the ready and glared at her.

"Stand away, witch," he commanded in a deep, threatening tone.

Alistair was in shock. It was the first time the Avvar had ever raised his voice to anyone in his presence. He didn't even know the large man was capable of such a thing. He was always so polite, so soft spoken.

Solona reached out and grabbed the Avvar's oversized forearm and gave it a tug. "Let me handle this," she told him, her timbre both cool and disapproving.

The behemoth scowled down at the young mage. "Solona, this witch, she is dangerous. The most dangerous of all sorceresses. We call her the Timeless Woman, and in her wake she brings only death and destruction."

"I said, _stand down,_ Sithig," she demanded. "I will not repeat myself."

The Avvar huffed with frustration before taking a reluctant step back. Solona folded her arms over her chest and raised her left brow.

"You are Flemeth, then?" she surmised. "The legendary Witch of the Wilds?"

"My," the old witch said. "But you are the intelligent one." She studied Solona's face for a long moment before continuing. "You hide behind a mask, a carefully woven and crafted disguise designed to conceal your fear and doubt, your longings and pain. There is a man. A man languishing in the darkness, behind cold bars of iron. Your thoughts betray you, smart lass."

Solona's face twitched upon hearing the ancient woman's words. From the angle where Alistair stood, he discerned the same look in her eyes as the one she possessed by the fire the first night they met. Was the witch talking about Anders?

The young mage's chest rose and fell with a heavy breath before regaining her usual countenance. "I did not come here to discuss my personal life. Morrigan told us that you possess some documents. I would have you return them."

Ignoring Solona's request, the witch took a step to the side to stand before Sithig. "And you, large lad. An exiled chief attempting to regain his honor. Such a shame."

The Avvar glared down at her. "Be gone, witch," he hissed. "I will not be taken in by your tricks."

She chuckled, a low, vile, rumbling sound which turned Alistair's stomach. "No tricks here, giant. Simply truth. The truth is far more entertaining."

"And what would a witch know about the truth?" Alistair questioned and immediately regretted the words as soon as they left him.

He intended to keep his mouth shut. To keep in the background, praying not to be noticed any further by the ancient woman, but his impulsive nature wouldn't let it be. She turned her attention to him and locked her golden eyes to his. He gulped, nearly choking on the hard lump that had formed in his throat then held his breath awaiting her analyzation. Solona would know his secret. The entire ugly mess of his heritage and his life.

"Men's hearts hold truths they do not wish revealed. Secrets in the dark they keep locked away in the hopes no one will see. See them for who they truly are. But remember this, lad. Like a flame, truth can light your way in the darkness as well as set your world afire."

She then turned and began hobbling back toward the pit, waving her hand in dismissal. "But…what do I know. I am simply an old woman trying to stay out of the darkspawn's path."

The crone stopped, stooped over one of the piles of old bones, and began to sort through it. After a few moments, she stood, bearing three scrolls of heavy, yellowed vellum in her hands. She tottered back to Solona then presented the documents to her. As the younger woman went to take the scrolls, the witch tightened her grip on them.

"I have protected these for many years, awaiting this moment," she said. "Awaiting you, Grey Warden."

"Awaiting me?" the young mage retorted with a scowl.

"Yes, and you are rather late, you know," the old hag informed her with a knowing smile. "Interfering with one's supper shows a complete lack of manners and says a lot about your upbringing. But what can one expect from a mage of the Circle? A frail old woman such as myself can scarcely afford to miss a meal."

The witch released her hold on the documents, prompting Solona to mumble a quiet, "Thank you."

The crone cupped her ear with her hand and leaned closer to the Warden. "What was that?" she asked. "I swore I heard you say something. These old ears do not hear as well as they used to."

Solona straightened her shoulders. "I said, _thank you_ ," she repeated in a clearer voice.

"Ah, manners," the ancient woman croaked as she presented the mage with an astute grin. "Always in the last place you look. Like stockings." Her shoulders shook with a hearty laugh at her own joke. "But do not mind me. You have what you came for."

She turned her back to the intruders and shuffled toward the side of her hut. "Lead them back," she ordered her daughter, but as Morrigan approached them, her mother stopped and peered at Solona over her shoulder. "Know this, Grey Warden. The threat of _this_ Blight is greater than you realize. Greater than anyone realizes. But, as I said, what do I know?"

* * *

By the time the Wardens returned to the expanse of the stone bridge leading into the fortress, dusk had fallen across the marshland. Absent were the many hues of orange, violet and dusky blue typical of a sunset. Instead, they were replaced by varying shades of grey and ebony shifting from the shadows of light smoke to inky black. The battle was coming, and it was coming soon.

The three Wardens had remained silent as they made their way through the swamp, each of them lost in their own dark thoughts. The only sounds escaping their lips were the grunts and cries emitted during altercations with the blighted creatures that had come to claim that part of Ferelden. Alistair seemed especially distraught over the words the witch spoke to him, leaving Solona to wonder exactly what secrets he was attempting to conceal.

She had troubles enough of her own as she clutched the amulet hanging from the chain around her neck. While Flemeth's mention of Anders and his predicament were distressing, she was most rattled by the witch telling her she had been awaiting her arrival. It wasn't so much the words the crone used, but more the way she stared into Solona's eyes, down to her very soul, that was so unnerving. The power the old hag wielded was unmatched, unlike anything Solona ever felt. The young Warden barely managed to maintain her composure in Flemeth's presence. She only hoped her companions failed to notice.

Once again, the three Wardens found Duncan standing at the central fire, right where he assured them he would be. The first thing he did upon their arrival was direct Solona and Sithig to hurry and don the blue and grey uniforms he retrieved from Senren. Solona gathered hers in her arms and departed for one of the mage's tents nearby. It took a bit of finagling and time to make sense of the differing pieces of armor and suit up. The leather trousers were a bit tighter around the hips and buttocks than the ones the mage had grown accustomed to, but they didn't seem to impede her movement at all.

When she was finished and withdrew from the tent, she ran straight into Alistair. He took a step back and scrutinized her for a long moment. He rubbed his thumb and index finger over the scruff on his chin before nodding and presenting her with a smile of approval.

"I like it," he told her. "It suits you."

She turned her back to him and lifted the long tails of her tabard then flashed a mischievous grin over her shoulder. "So it doesn't make my ass look too big?" she asked.

Alistair's face flushed crimson as his eyes lingered on her behind. He shifted his weight from his right foot to his left and tugged at the front of his scale and leather tunic. Solona knew exactly what that meant. He was attempting to cover the evidence of what her teasing was doing to him.

 _Maybe he enjoys the company of women, after all_. _If his interests lay strictly in other men, he certainly wouldn't be trying to cover up an erection. Would he?_

The warrior's throat constricted with the motion of an arduous gulp before he cleared it. "Maybe a little," he quipped with an impish smirk. "But the tabard should do a good enough job covering it up."

Solona pursed her lips, donning a sour expression and dropped the tails of her overdress with a perturbed huff. She supposed it was possible she had been wrong. Perhaps he just liked asses. It made sense if he were same-gendered oriented. Karl had made remarks about her buttocks the few times he caught them bare while she was lying atop Anders' bed, and he had absolutely no interest in women.

 _Maybe next time I'll show him my tits. That should clear everything up._

She nearly jumped from her boots when Duncan cleared his throat behind her. "If the two of you are finished playing, we have important business of to attend."

Alistair clapped a fist to his heart, prompting Solona to do the same. "Of course, Commander," the young warrior acknowledged.

"As soon as Sithig returns, I want the three of you to join me at the war table. The king has called a meeting and requests your presence."

 _Why in the Maker's ass would the king want us to be there? He knows we're new recruits._

She regarded Alistair who stood next to her. His nostrils were flared and his eyes were dark brown once again. Could such an invitation have something to do with him? Something Flemeth said to the warrior resonated with her.

 _Men's hearts hold truths they do not wish revealed. Secrets in the dark they keep locked away in the hopes no one will see. See them for who they truly are._

What had the witch meant by that? What secret was he hiding that he didn't want her to know? Surely it couldn't have anything to do with King Cailan. Solona frowned as it finally dawned on her that she knew absolutely nothing about Alistair aside from his kind nature and his temper when his hackles were raised. Her curiosity was definitely piqued more than ever, but the sullen expression on her companion's face told her it was best to leave him alone.

The moment Duncan was out of earshot, her fellow Warden turned to her. "I don't want to talk about it," he informed her in a flat tone, already surmising the questions that were swirling around in her head.

She shrugged in a nonchalant fashion. "I didn't say anything."

"But you were thinking it," he grumbled.

"Alistair," she retorted, "You have trouble enough reading the thoughts in your own tiny brain. You're going to hurt yourself if you keep attempting to peruse mine."

He grimaced. "Ha Ha. Very funny, Solona."

Her brow furrowed. He was really upset. He didn't even make an effort at a comeback or even deign to look in her direction. With arms folded across his chest and tenebrous eyes directed straight, he just stood there, still as a stone. The muscles of his jaw were clenched so tight, Solona half expected his teeth to crack under the pressure. His broad chest rose and fell sharply with every labored breath. He looked as if he were about to explode.

A few minutes later Sithig appeared carrying his large battleaxe across his shoulder. Alistair didn't even afford the man a glance before stomping away toward the stairway Duncan had ascended earlier. The Avvar peered down at Solona with a questioning frown, and she couldn't help but think of how out of place he seemed without his usual fur and leather accoutrements. As a Grey Warden, he was intimidating as the void, but to her, at least, it just wasn't Sithig standing before her.

"Come on," she told him. "We're supposed to meet Duncan at the war table."

"Is that what has Alistair so upset?" asked the large man as the two of them trotted to catch up to their fellow Warden.

"I'm not sure," replied the mage. "But if I had to hazard a guess…then yes, I believe it is."


	12. The Battle Of Ostagar

Alistair's feet moved with purpose as he tramped up the stairway that would lead to the war table. He hadn't intended to snap at Solona the way he did, but he refused to answer any questions she might think to ask. It may have been wrong, given his feelings for the mage, but he wanted to hold off from telling her about Cailan and his father for as long as possible.

In his entire life, Alistair had only revealed his secret to one person, and he immediately regretted it. His best friend in the monastery called him a liar and refused to talk to him after that beyond their lessons. To make matters worse, he told others. They didn't believe Alistair any more than his former friend did, but it did make life in the monastery more difficult for the remainder of his time there. Everyone shunned the young initiate, treating him as if he were some sort of leper. He swore then and there, he would never tell anyone again.

The young Warden stopped halfway between the steps and the war table. Standing around the long wooden slab covered in maps and missives was Cailan, Duncan, Loghain, a bald man in mage's robes, and a Chantry mother. The king and his general were engaged in what looked to be a heated argument while the others stood silently to the side.

 _Might as well get this over and done with._

As he neared, Alistair began to make out the words being exchanged between the two men.

"I'm sick of this, Loghain. I realize you and my father fought in the war against Orlais, but there is a new ruler there, and we need her help. Don't you think I've asked other countries? Celene is the only one willing to send aid."

As Loghain shook his head, the bangs of his ebony hair, fashioned into two thin braids, swung like small pendulums against the sides of his battle-scarred face. The abundant lines at the corners of his dark-circled, blue eyes deepened as his lids constricted. He glowered at the king, his indignation in regards to the younger man's plans apparent.

"It's fortunate your father isn't here to see you so readily hand over Ferelden to the nation that enslaved us for nearly an age," he proclaimed.

Cailan sighed as he crossed his arms over his gold plated chest. "I'm sick of this argument, and it doesn't really matter for tonight, anyway. So far, Celene hasn't sent anyone, so we're on our own."

Loghain began pacing back and forth like an angry wildcat as Alistair took his place next to Duncan. The young warrior actually found himself feeling sorry for Calian as his brother awaited the old soldier's next tirade. A moment later, Solona and Sithig lined up at Alistair's side, and he noticed the mage's eyes immediately lock on the bald man standing at the corner of the table.

The Hero of River Dane stopped mid stride then turned to face the king. "Don't you understand? She already has Cailan, and her agents stand in our midst."

The king pounded his fists on the table. "I've had it with your ridiculous conspiracy theories, Loghain," he bellowed. "Three of the four Wardens standing in front of you are from Ferelden. One's an Avvar, for the Maker's sake!"

"That just furthers my point," the older man argued. "You know as well as I do how the Avvar feel about the rest of us living in Ferelden."

Cailan straightened his back and his shoulders before lifting his chin proudly in the air. There was an aura of nobility about the man Alistair had not recognized before. _He_ could never command such a presence.

"Avvar or not, this man is Fereldan," the king said in a calm, yet authoritative voice. "More importantly he is a Grey Warden. And you would do well to remember who among us wears the crown."

Loghain waggled his head and hunched over the war table. "So what is this grand scheme of yours?" he questioned with an aggravated huff. "Are you still planning for me to flank the enemy?"

"Yes," the king affirmed as he pointed to a spot on the map. "You will wait here for the signal. As soon as the beacon is lit…" He traced his finger along an imaginary line. "You will bring your men through here and charge the creatures from cover."

"I will send a few of my men to the Tower of Ishal to light the beacon," the general said.

"No," Cailan argued. "We will send our best." He pointed to Alistair and then Solona. "These two Wardens will light the beacon." He gave his brother a pensive stare. "I am certain they will see the job done."

The bald mage stepped in at that point. When he spoke, his voice was high-pitched and creaking, reminding Alistair of that of a villain from a puppet show performed for the keep's children he watched as a child. "Your Majesty, if I may. We mages can perform this task without even entering that tower."

"Did anyone ask you, mage?" the Chantry priestess questioned with an acerbic expression. "The King of Ferelden would never risk the lives of his men through the use of your curse. He knows magic is evil. I don't know whose fool idea it was to bring you and your ilk here, but your job lies on the battlefield."

Alistair felt Solona shift her weight from one foot to the other as she crossed her arms over her chest. She glared at the old woman. The young mage was furious. Alistair could see it in her eyes as the brilliant blue faded from lapis to grey.

"As I'm sure you hope his body does at the end of this battle," she seethed.

"I don't believe anyone asked for your opinion, _mage_ ," the priestess retorted with a sneer.

"Enough," Loghain interjected before anymore words could be exchanged. "We will stick with your plan Cailan. The two Wardens will send up the signal fire."

"And what of me?" Sithig asked in his usual polite tone.

The king smiled. It was the first genuine smile Alistair had seen from his brother since his arrival. "You will be with Duncan and I," he told the larger man. "I would be honored if you would fight at my side, my Avvarian friend."

Sithig presented Cailan with a low bow of his head. "The honor is mine, son of Maric."

The king gave an approving nod. "Come then, friend. The battle awaits."

As the Avvar turned to follow Cailan, Alistair placed his hand on the larger man's bicep. He couldn't allow Sithig to leave without saying goodbye. He prayed he was wrong, but he had a feeling the upcoming battle would go exactly as his brother feared.

"Sithig…" he hesitated as those light blue eyes locked on his. "Be careful out there."

"And you as well, my friend," the Avvar said with a sad smile.

He felt tears well up in his eyes. Though he hadn't known the Avvar long, he knew well enough that Sithig was a good man who didn't deserve the fate that was about to befall him. Being sent to light the beacon could very well save Alistair and Solona's lives, but Sithig…He would not be so fortunate that evening.

"May the Maker watch over you," the smaller man told him, nearly choking on the words.

"And may you find Hakkon's favor in battle," the other offered with a fist to his heart before pivoting on the balls of his feet and walking away.

"Meet me by the fire," Duncan told the two remaining Wardens. "I will give you further instructions there."

"Of course, Commander," Alistair agreed with a fist to his heart with Solona performing a mirror of the movement at his side.

The mage waited for the older Warden to put enough distance between himself and his charges before turning to her companion. His hazel eyes glistened in the light of the torches surrounding the war table. He wet his lips before the bottom one disappeared beneath his upper teeth.

"Hey?" she queried. "Are you going to be alright?"

Alistair's gaze met hers. There was confusion swirling within the sea of green, as if she had said something untoward. He searched her eyes for several moments, contemplating words he had no intention of uttering. She had seen that look too many times before, always just before Anders planned to leave the tower but would not let her in on his schemes. She grimaced.

 _Don't you dare leave me._

A wistful, uneven smile curved the corners of his lips. "Careful," he warned. "Or your face will get stuck like that."

She chuckled for a moment before her expression grew serious again. "Not that it would be an unusual occurrence for you, but tell me you're not planning anything completely stupid."

His brow furrowed in mock surprise as his grin widened. "Me? Do something stupid? Perish the thought, dear lady. I _was_ thinking of donning a dress and shimmying down the darkspawn line." When Solona's left brow raised in questioning bewilderment, he continued. "I thought it might be a good distraction. We could kill them while they roll around laughing. Maybe the Remigold, hmm? But it would have to be a pretty dress, of course, with lots of ruffles and bows. I refuse to be seen in rags."

Solona couldn't help herself. Just the idea of Alistair in a pink dress covered in ruffles and bows was too funny not to laugh. He began chuckling right along with her until they both had tears in their eyes. How did he do that to her? No matter how upset she was with her life, with the world…no matter the situation, he could always bring a smile to her face.

After a few minutes, she waggled her head. "You know there's something seriously wrong with you, don't you?"

The space between his brows disappeared as he gazed into her eyes once more. Her breath hitched in her throat as she thought she glimpsed the hint of something more than the usual friendship and kindness she normally found within. He ran his tongue over his lips and exhaled a ragged sighed. He offered her an appreciative grin and cupped her chin between his index finger and thumb.

"It put a smile on your face, didn't it?" he asked. "Made you forget about what we're about to face?" He shook his head. "That makes it worth you thinking me mad. _That_ makes it worth anything."

Solona gasped as he began to lower his face toward her. She closed her eyes, awaiting the touch of those thick lips on hers. She hadn't realized until that moment how very much she wanted him to kiss her. Her breaths were short and labored. Time seemed to crawl to a near stop.

The sensation of his lips on the tip of her nose made Solona's heart drop into her stomach. She opened her eyes to find his just inches away. It felt as if a rock had gotten stuck in her throat, and she was forced to swallow past it. Tears stung her eyes as she realized she misread every signal he ever gave her.

He wasn't falling in love with her. How could he? Even if he was interested in women, he would never find favor in her. She was too jaded. Too bitter and cold. Anders could never find a place for her in his heart, why should Alistair?

Then Solona recalled his tears upon being forced to say goodbye to Sithig, and it suddenly all made sense. Alistair's love, that specific kind of love, was reserved for the Avvar. She was merely a close friend, a confidant. That was why her teasing and her subtle attempts at seduction hadn't worked. Still, it was a disappointment she found difficult to bear.

"Don't worry," he whispered. "We can do this." She averted her eyes to the side in an attempt to hide her disenchantment, but he turned her face until her gaze was on him once more. "Hey, you've got this."

* * *

He just couldn't do it. No matter how much he wanted to, Alistair couldn't complete that kiss. Solona seemed willing. Her lids were closed, her rose stained lips set in a slight, delicate pout, but he was unable to find the courage to close that gap. What if he was wrong? Not only that, but the setting wasn't exactly romantic. He had only shared a kiss once, with one other person, and that ended in complete disaster. He couldn't go through that again. Not with her. So, instead, he placed a soft kiss on the tip of her nose.

When she opened her eyes, she seemed disappointed, and it damned near broke his heart. He supposed he could try again, do it right, but it just felt like the wrong place, the wrong time.

 _Not now, my love. Later. Somewhere else._

Alistair tried to say with his gaze what he felt down to the very depths of his soul. They hadn't known each other long, but given everything they had been through together, it was long enough. It was true she barely knew a thing about him, but it didn't matter. He knew how he felt. He couldn't deny it anymore.

When he spoke the words to her, the words that always seemed to bring her courage, she smiled through tear-filled eyes. At least that was something. There would be time for confessions later.

 _And what if this is your only chance? What if one or both of you die tonight, and you'll never know the taste of those lips._

A small sigh escaped Alistair's lips. If he were to perish, at least he could wrap himself in the memory of her kiss as he faded into the abyss. He inched closer, then stopped. Perhaps he was wrong, seeing only what he wished to be true. Maybe his signals were completely crossed. It happened before. She was beautiful, intelligent, experienced…everything he was not.

 _Forget it, jackass. It's not love for you in her eyes. It's fear of the unknown. Of the battle. Quit being an idiot and move on._

* * *

Duncan gave them their orders quickly. When he dismissed them, it was without fanfare or any tearful goodbyes, merely a reiteration of the importance of their duty and a warning to use caution. He was their commander, after all, not their friend. He was an amicable enough man, but he maintained the distance appropriate of one of his station. The only one of them he really ever conversed with on any sort of regular basis was Sithig, but Solona could never hazard a guess as to why.

As the two Wardens made their way to the bridge leading to the Tower of Ishal, Solona couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong. Although Duncan said there shouldn't be any resistance at the tower, Solona knew nothing was ever that easy. There was trouble on the other side of that gorge. She felt it in her bones.

The oppression in the air was as thick as the mist and acrid smoke that had settled all around them. The steady beating of heavy drums in the distance pounded out a rhythm of impending doom. It was more than a warning, it was a portent.

Solona refused to display her misgivings, however. They had a job to do. She needed to remain strong for both of them. If she showed any fear, it would just feed Alistair's worry for her, and that might result in mistakes that would threaten both their lives.

Alistair fell in place behind Solona as she stepped out onto the bridge. The moment her foot touched down on the stone, the drums stopped and the thundering roar of darkspawn heading toward the ruined city split the night sky. Great stones which had been covered in sulfur and oil and set ablaze began raining down from the heavens. The pungent stench of rotten eggs burning all around stung Solona's eyes and made her gag as she and Alistair were forced to dodge the falling debris.

As they made their way across, one of the flaming boulders collided into a wider portion of the bridge where several soldiers were manning a trebuchet, sending both the men and the greater portion of the overpass hurtling into the depths of the chasm below. Solona stopped long enough to gain her bearings and try to discern if there was any way to get to the tower on the other side. Fortunately, she found just enough of the span left for one person to traverse it at a time, provided she and Alistair were careful.

The mage rushed toward the precarious easement, slowing down only when the toe of her boot touched the skeletal remains of the bridge. She held her arms out to her sides to aid in her balance, but found it more difficult than what she first anticipated. Although the armor she wore was less bulky than Alistair's, she was still unaccustomed to its mass.

Then, while crossing the narrowest part of the stone, Solona's foot slipped. She gasped as she began to tumble over the side, but felt Alistair's arm catch her around the waist at the last second. He pulled her tight to his body, lifting her feet from the stone, before continuing on. She was impressed at the way he was able to maintain his footing as he hauled her the remainder of the way. The warrior didn't let go until he was able to set her down again on the other side of the gap. Once Solona's feet were back on some semblance of solid ground, she managed only a few steps when the stone behind them began to crumble and give way.

"Run!" Alistair cried over the din of crashing rocks.

Solona took off as fast as her feet and burning legs could carry her, but they were still a bit wobbly from the fear of nearly falling to her death. She felt Alistair's arms encircle her waist once more and in a single motion, he tossed her up and over his opposite shoulder. He had to jump the last few feet, but succeeded in clearing the end of the bridge, landing squarely and securely on the ground. After putting Solona down, he placed his hands on his hips and bent at the waist, attempting to catch his breath.

"Didn't think I'd let you get out of this that easy, did you?" he wheezed.

"You were just afraid you'd have to do this all on your own," she quipped.

"Damned straight," Alistair agreed. "I'm counting on you to protect me."

Still panting from exertion, he peered over at her with a boyish grin and a playful wink. Even with the battle raging all around them, Solona found comfort in the gesture and his odd sense of humor. Then, something dawned on her. Somewhere along the way, amid all the death and destruction, Alistair had become her best friend and the most important person in her world. More than Cullen. More than Jowan. Even more than Anders. A grateful smile curled her lips as she continued to stare into his hazel eyes.

The cry of a soldier finally broke their gaze when Alistair turned to acknowledge the approaching man. He couldn't have been more than seventeen, with dark red freckles peppering the blush of his cheeks and nose. His deep brown eyes were wide and his voice full of panic when he finally spoke.

"Grey Wardens," he chuffed. "Thank the Maker."

"What's going on?" Alistair questioned with a worried frown.

"The darkspawn…" the soldier croaked. "The tower's been overrun."

"We have to move," Alistair told Solona as he pulled his sword from its scabbard.

The mage presented him with a terse nod before readying her own weapon. She happened a glance at her companion, and the words he spoke to her time and again bolstered her resolve. Although she was frightened, she was primed for the battle that lay ahead of her. She was prepared to fight, for him, to protect him. Solona didn't care about glory or honor, nor darkspawn or duty. The only thing that mattered to her was Alistair and keeping him safe at her side.

* * *

They were overrun. Too many night-gangers on the field and too few soldiers left to fight them. When Cailan asked Sithig to stand at his side during the battle, the Avvar assumed it was so he could act as a shield for the king. Cailan, however, surprised him by remaining in the thick of things, fighting just as hard as any of his men. Sithig's first impression of the king had been wrong. He was definitely a man of courage and honor.

The Avvar swung his axe upward straight into the gut of a hurlock. He kicked its body away with his oversized foot then pivoted, using his momentum to bury his weapon into a genlock's skull. He used his elbow on another that attacked his left flank then planted his boot into the chest of yet another on his right. There seemed to be no end to the creatures. He chanced a look at Cailan and saw that the king's position was about to be overtaken by three of the spawn in addition to the two that were already engaging him.

The Avvar spread out his arms, knocking away the creatures that surrounded him and, with a mighty battle cry, charged toward the king's attackers. The sharp sting of a blade slicing across his bicep induced a grunt from the warrior as he crashed into the night-gangers closing in on Cailan. As the king continued to cut down the beasts around him, Sithig remained at his back to prevent him from being overrun again.

"Keep them back!" Cailan cried over the din. "I need time to give the signal."

The Avvar threw his body between the king and his enemies, then used the weight of his massive frame to swing his axe in a wide arc around them. Cailan turned and brandished his sword in a circle over his head to inform the red-headed elven boy cowering atop the wall to sound the horn. A few moments later, three blasts from a war horn echoed above the bedlam, prompting Sithig to pray to Hakkon that Loghain and his men would arrive soon.

* * *

The young soldier didn't exaggerate when he claimed the tower had been overrun. Solona and Alistair fought their way through dozens of darkspawn before they even entered the spire, and at least a hundred more before they finally reached the top. The young man, who insisted on accompanying the Wardens even though he was terrified, perished along the way. It was a shame, really, that it appeared he had given his life for what was looking more and more to be a hopeless cause.

When the Wardens at last cleared the door to the uppermost chamber, they found an ogre crouching near the opposite wall with its back turned to them. It was tearing apart a body, eating from the dead soldier's gaping abdomen. Alistair skidded to a stop, causing Solona to crash into his back. He steadied himself before looking over his shoulder at his fellow Warden.

"Maker's balls, I fucking hate ogres" he whispered.

"Should I shoo him away?" she asked with an arch of her brow.

As they fought the creatures on the way up, Alistair and Solona had maintained a steady flow of quips and japes between them. They even kept a tally of their kills, comparing who was in the lead for the highest body count. Somehow, the banter helped quell the fear and trepidation they both felt.

"Could you?" he retorted. "That would be great."

"Fine," she smirked. "But this one counts as at least two."

He shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I'll still be ahead by three."

Their banter finally garnered the ogre's attention enough to prompt it to turn its head. It lumbered to its feet before opening its copious maw and emitting a prolonged, resounding roar. Great globules of saliva and the blood from the beast's meal spattered all around.

"That's disgusting," Alistair observed with a grimace.

"Maybe we should teach it some manners?" Solona suggested as she brandished her sword at his side.

"Impress me," her fellow Warden challenged with an uneven grin.

The mage called forth her magic and cast a vulnerability hex on the creature, weakening its defenses. While she attempted to cast her next spell, the ogre charged, but before it overtook her, Alistair pushed Solona aside, taking the full brunt of the attack. As it reached down its massive hand to snatch him around the waist, the mage leapt to her feet, leaving her sword on the ground, and used both hands to send twin bolts of lightning hurtling toward the side of the beast's head. It reeled for only a moment then swiped at its nose before turning its attention back to the mage.

She cast a death hex, and it roared in response, covering her with its stinking spittle before barging at her once again. The creature grabbed for her, but she rolled out of the way. As it pivoted and bent to retrieve Solona from the floor, Alistair clambered onto the beast's back and lunged his sword into the nape of its neck. It howled in pain for only a few seconds before crashing to the ground below.

"That's seven," he claimed with a smirk. "I believe it's clear who won this round."

Solona retrieved her sword from the floor and harrumphed. "I could have taken that beast if you hadn't interfered."

"Keep telling yourself that," Alistair teased before glancing over at the huge stone hearth near the tower's window. "We should probably go ahead and light the beacon. I'm sure we've missed Cailan's signal by now."

Solona's brow furrowed. He referred to the king by his given name. Not the king or King Cailan. Just Cailan. A commoner would never invoke the name of his liege so informally. There was history between the two. Between that and his moodiness every time Alistair spoke to King Cailan, there was no doubt left in her mind. But they still had a job to do. There would be time later for her to grill Alistair about his relationship with the king.

She hurdled over the ogre's legs past her fellow Warden to ensure he wouldn't be caught in the blast of her magic and called forth her mana. A moment later, a small flame shot from the palms of her outstretched hand and into the oil-soaked tinder causing a great fire to roar to life. When she turned, she found Alistair at her side, sword at the ready.

"We're fucked," he declared in a low voice as a few dozen darkspawn began to descend upon them.

Solona brandished her sword, but found she could barely keep her grip. Mana drain had taken nearly all her strength. With her empty hand, she reached down into the pouch at her waist to retrieve a lyrium potion, but found them missing. She had used them all on the way up. Still, she had to do something.

She sheathed her sword then lifted her hands to cast, careening from the effort of calling her magic. Using every last ounce of mana she could spare without it killing her, Solona threw a chain lightning spell at the nearest darkspawn. The flash of electric bolts as they began moving from one creature to the next was the last thing the mage saw before she collapsed onto the floor. Somewhere in the distance, past the darkness she was tumbling through, Alistair screamed out her name.

"Maker fuck!" she heard him curse, as the Fade pulled her under.

* * *

An arrow pierced Sithig's right shoulder as he spun on the ball of his left foot and bashed the haft of his axe into a hurlock's skull. His body was beginning to resemble a pincushion with all the projectiles protruding from his skin. He was exhausted, but he couldn't stop. Not while breath still remained in his lungs.

The signal fire had gone up, but there was no sign of the general or his troops, just the blare of a lone horn in the distance. It was a sound Sithig knew all too well. It was the sound of retreat. No aid would be coming for the king or his men that night. They were betrayed, doomed. Still, the Avvar fought on. He would protect Cailan to the last. Maybe then he would finally regain the honor he lost so long ago.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sithig spotted an ogre bounding toward the king. He mustered his strength, and putting his shoulder to the effort, rushed toward the beast to stop it in its tracks. When his shoulder made contact with the oversized spawn, Sithig screamed in agony and rage as the impact drove the arrows there further into his muscles. His attack didn't knock the creature over, but it halted its charge.

With a cry of anger, the Avvar hefted his axe in a circle, bringing it high into the air before burying it in the ogre's skull right between its long horns. As the night-ganger went down, Sithig turned in time to see a second ogre squeeze its hand around the king's waist and emit a resounding roar. Time slowed. The entire world seemed to spin in slow motion as the warrior willed his weary arms to wrest his axe from his last victim and hurry to Cailan's rescue.

Sithig hadn't made it more than a few strides before the hand encircling Cailan's torso tightened, snapping his spine. The king's body went limp and his head fell back with a jerk. The Avvar continued his assault. He may not have been able to save Cailan, but that ogre would feel the end of his axe just the same. Sithig would avenge the king, even if it was with his dying breath.

The Avvar leapt into the air with his weapon held high over his head and to the right. When he finally began his descent, the muscles of his arms flexed with the effort of his swing as he brought the blade down on the side of the ogre's neck and severed its head from its body.

His feet had just touched down, when Sithig felt a blade pierce his side. He immediately reacted by landing a hard right fist to his assailant's face, but the damage had been done. Streams of thick crimson seeped from the wound onto the already pink and sanguine stained snow, and the Avvar fell to his knees. Breathing became more of an effort by the second as his throat constricted against the blood rising up from his injuries.

He looked down into a pair of familiar dark eyes. Duncan's dead stare beckoned him to embrace the abyss. Sithig tried to fight it, but between his wounds, the fatigue, and the pain, he just couldn't do it. As he collapsed onto his commander's chest, for the first time in a long time, he finally felt at peace. He prayed to the Lady of the Skies that in his sacrifice he regained his honor. That he would once again be a true Avvar. If he found the Lady's favor, he would see Kattrin again. He would hold Amund in his arms and never let either his wife or his son stray from his embrace again.


	13. The Outcast

As Miriana Amell lay in her bed, she watched a tiny light wisp dance across her fingertips. The sensation of warmth emitting from the faint glow put a smile on the mage's face. Lumia was the first wisp she ever conjured, and had been her constant companion since she was just a girl.

"Alright, Lumia," she whispered. "I would like to get back to my book now, please. If you don't mind."

The wisp floated away from the young woman's hand then hovered above the pages of the leather bound book, providing just enough light to read. It was well after midnight, more than two hours since lights out in the mage's hall, but it was such a good story. Miriana's favorite, in fact.

She squinted her eyes as she continued perusing the text through the lenses of her squared, steel-framed glasses. The spectacles helped, of course. Without them, Miriana wouldn't have a chance of making out the words detailing the adventures of Gerard the pirate, but the wisp's lambency was hardly ideal for reading. She didn't dare uncover the lyrium lamp above her bed, though. She knew from experience the radiance of the brighter light would call the attention of the templars roaming the corridor. Lumia's light, on the other hand, could only be seen from Miriana's side of the room.

The mage pulled her knees up and settled the book on her makeshift reading stand and massaged the skin around her already red wrists. Sweet Andraste, how she hated new robes. The thread of the freshly stitched seams felt like dozens of tiny pinpricks poking into her sensitive flesh. After her robes were laundered a few times, the affliction would cease. Until then, however, she was simply forced to suffer through.

Miriana had always been susceptible to skin irritation, as well as over reactive to loud noises and bright lights. She also found extreme discomfort in the midst of large groups of people, especially if they were people she didn't know well. Her father referred to her as delicate. Her twin sister, however, simply called her a baby.

Although they were only five when the templars took Solona away, Miriana still possessed vivid memories of her twin. The two girls may have looked alike, but they were opposite in nearly every other way. Where Solona was brazen and loud, Miriana was timid and reserved. Their differences often led to trouble between the two girls, usually ending with Solona wailing on her sister, but Miriana found she still missed her twin terribly sometimes.

When the itching had died down, and the sleeves of her robes been rolled further up her forearm, Miriana finally returned to her book. She sighed as she read how the rogue took the noble lady in his arms and pressed his mouth to hers in a long, passionate kiss. If only her life were that exciting. She dreamed of grand adventures on the open sea with a handsome rogue. If she closed her eyes, she could almost smell the ocean breeze and feel Gerard's arms tighten around her waist as he placed his lips on her bare shoulder.

Picturing herself in the stories she read was the mage's favorite pastime. While dreaming of the dashing Gerard was certainly her most favored fantasy, many tales had fanned the flames of her imagination as well as her love of reading. The characters in those stories were more than simple words on a page, they were her friends. She celebrated their victories and mourned their losses just as if they really existed.

Real people, the ones that resided in Miriana's tangible world, were a lot more difficult to adapt to. Because she spent the better part of her time with her nose stuck in a book, most people at the Circle of Ostwick considered her strange. That coupled with her shyness and the rumors that spread like wildfire upon her arrival to the Circle made making friends near impossible. Miriana didn't mind so much. She had her books to keep her company. She did manage to make one actual friend, however, her best friend. An apprentice one year her junior who possessed a bad temper and a penchant for trouble and cryomancy.

Julia Trevelyan wielded ice better than any other mage in the tower, perhaps all of Thedas, but when she was angry, she tended to lose control over her gift. When the apprentice's temper flared, the very air around her would chill, causing ice to form on everything in her vicinity. Unlike Miriana, who was grateful for the templars rescuing her from a frightening and uncertain future, Julia was never happy with life in the Circle and did her best to make everyone around her as miserable as she felt. She was forever getting into trouble for playing pranks on the templars and senior enchanters. Unfortunately, when she did, she tended to drag Miriana along for the fun and the punishment. Over the years, the two of them were confined to solitary more times than either girl could count.

Gerard was in the middle of a swordfight with the noble lady's dastardly husband when Miriana discerned the padding of light footsteps approaching her bed. With a wave of her left hand, she quickly dismissed Lumia. With her right, she shoved the book under the blanket next to her then closed her eyes to feign sleep.

"I know you're awake, Miri" she heard her best friend say. "You forgot to take off your glasses again."

The older girl opened her lids to find the apprentice's face just inches above her, staring into her eyes. Miriana recalled the wisp and was greeted with the sight of tiny flecks of violet sparkling within a field of cornflower blue. The mage produced a sheepish smile as she removed her spectacles.

"I thought you might have been one of the templars," she fibbed.

Miriana knew it was Julia from the quiet sound of her bare feet shuffling over the marble tiles. If it had been templars, the clanking of heavy armor would have given them away.

"You're a terrible liar, Miri," Julia chided. "I don't know why you bother."

"Sorry, Jules," Miriana apologized.

When the younger woman pulled back the blanket and snatched the book hidden there, Miriana tried to grab it, but Julia jerked it away. The mage cringed while Julia read the cover aloud.

" _The Pirate Gerard,"_ she announced in a mocking tone. "By Cirrav Sarthet." She waggled her head with a scowl. "How in the Maker's name do you read such drivel?"

Miriana seized the book from her friend's grasp then tucked it back under her blanket. "It's my favorite."

Julia shook her platinum blonde head, causing the long, thick braid over her shoulder to sway gently. "I don't understand why you torture yourself with such stories when you know neither of us will ever see the sun again."

"It's not that bad, Jules. Most people never get the chance to experience those types of adventures, to really live, but it is fun to dream about."

The blonde woman shrugged. "If you say so."

Miriana touched her friend's cheek. She was a beauty. Far more beautiful than Miriana. If that weren't enough, Julia exuded a natural grace and elegance the older girl could never hope to possess. In a lot of ways, she imagined Julia was a lot like Solona would have been at that age.

Miriana sat up and tucked her legs beneath her bottom. "So, how did your date go?" she asked in a bid to change the subject.

Julia grimaced. "Voshell is a pig. You should be thanking me for taking him off your hands."

Miriana felt a small twinge in the pit of her stomach. For years, since the first time the older girl showed the slightest interest in boys, Julia always managed to find a way to turn their heads toward her. She would seduce them long enough to insult or injure them then throw them by the wayside. To make matters worse, she always expected Miriana to thank her for the favor. Miriana tried not to let it bother her, but her self-esteem always died a little each time it happened.

"He was that bad?" the mage questioned. "I always thought he was kind of nice."

Julia harrumphed. "Yes, until he gets you alone. Then he's all hands." She used her mana to cause crystals of ice to form at her fingertips. "I don't think he will be trying that again anytime soon, though."

"Julia!" Miriana exclaimed. "You didn't!"

"Just a little bit of ice applied to the right place at the right time," she smirked. "There are some parts of a man's anatomy that should never get frostbite."

"You know Wenda is going to confine you to your room again for this," Miriana warned.

Julia arched a brow. "Do you really think he will tell anyone?"

The other girl bit her lower lip. "No, I suppose he wouldn't. Still, it was a mean trick."

"But it taught him a valuable lesson," the apprentice said in a haughty tone. "Now he will always remember when a lady says no, she means no." She then brushed away the long sable curls from the side of Miriana's face before placing a soft kiss upon her lips. "Besides, who needs men when we have each other?"

Miriana lay back onto her pillow. It was always the same thing. Julia would meet with a young man, visit her friend afterward, then want to engage in more carnal activities. It wasn't exactly an unpleasurable experience, at least it hadn't been in many years, but Miriana was never thrilled by the prospect. She longed for the company of someone other than Julia. She wanted to know the touch of a man. It was a welcome distraction, however, and maybe it would help soften the blow Miriana knew she would have to deliver before the next evening came.

Earlier in the day, she had been approached by First Enchanter Wenda, who told her she was to be transferred to the Circle Tower in Ferelden. It seemed that Kinloch Hold had recently lost three of its mages. One was a very talented young entropy mage who had been conscripted by the Grey Wardens, and the second a mediocre apprentice who employed blood magic to flee the tower. The third was a spirit healer known for his daring and creative escape attempts. It had been said the only reason the healer hadn't been made tranquil already after being brought back to Kinloch six times was because he was the finest that Circle had ever seen. The sixth escape, however, seemed to be the Knight Commander's breaking point. That healer had been locked in the deepest dungeons of the tower for a year and refused to cooperate with the templars any further upon his release.

With the healer's abilities no longer available, Kinloch was in need of a new one to take his place. Wenda had been reluctant to agree to the tower's request, but with the threat of a Blight looming in Ferelden, she finally gave in and chose to transfer Miriana. The First Enchanter informed her student that the templars being sent to escort her would arrive sometime the next afternoon, and to make sure she had everything ready when they did.

Before bed that evening, Miriana had already taken care of everything…everything but facing her best friend. She was unsure what Julia would do or say when she heard the news. Would she be hurt? Yes, Miriana was sure of it, but far worse, Julia would be furious. The thought of the apprentice unleashing the full weight of her anger gave the mage more than a little pause.

As Miriana fell asleep in Julia's embrace, she freed her mind from her concern about her lover to fantasize once again about a man who didn't exist. The man of her dreams. Although she would never know him, never gaze lovingly into his eyes and him into hers, she could still dream about him.

* * *

The following morning, Miriana sat in the library trying to read, but the two apprentices at the next table were making it extremely difficult for her to concentrate. Normally, apprentices weren't allowed to use the mage's library, but the First Enchanter sometimes made concessions for those who were nearing their Harrowing. For almost an hour, the young men engaged in conversation about the different mage factions and news that trickled in about the other Circles in Thedas.

Miriana couldn't take it anymore. Rage she couldn't explain boiled in her stomach. She had difficulties enough trying to concentrate on her book without the added distraction of the two apprentices. She had come into that library specifically to get away from the noise of idle chatter and the sound of armored footfalls on marble. Normally she would sit in her room to read, but she was making it a point to avoid Julia as long as she could.

She covered her ears in an attempt to shut out the clamor, but it didn't help. She detested the idea of confrontation, but if she didn't find relief from the incessant babbling soon, her anger was going to overtake her. When she had endured all she could stand, she glared at the apprentices and slammed her book shut before relocating to a table on the other side of the room.

The moment Miriana had settled into a more comfortable and quieter spot, the sound of familiar footfalls upon marble tile echoed throughout the room. She lowered her book just enough to peek over the top of it, and her stomach sank at the sight of Julia making her way toward her. The mage buried her nose back in the tome and slumped down further into her chair, praying Julia hadn't spotted her. When her book was yanked out of her hand, she knew she was out of luck and out of time.

"So," Julia bellowed. "You were just going to leave. Without even telling me."

Miriana sat up straight in her seat. "No, Jules. I would never do that."

"Oh, so you were just going to wave goodbye as you walked out the door? Was that the plan? Was it?" Miriana squirmed uncomfortably upon her chair, and Julia slammed her hands down on the table's surface, prompting the young men to scurry out into the corridor. "Stop fidgeting, Miri, and answer the damned question."

Gooseflesh formed on Miriana's arms from the sudden drop in the room's temperature. Upon exhaling, she could see the cloud of her breath. She trembled as she stared into the other woman's eyes. When Julia was angry, the violet flecks within would grow brighter and larger. At that very moment, they had become so enlarged that the blue hue had all but disappeared. In fact, Julia's eyes were never more violet.

"I…I don't know what to say Jules" the younger mage stuttered. "I was going to come talk to you, truly. I suppose I was just waiting for the right time…to try to find the exact right way to tell you."

Tears began to stain Julia's cheeks. "I thought we were friends, Miriana…I thought we were…"

She spun around and ran toward the door leading to the main hallway. As she went, the shelves she passed became encased in ice. Miriana stared down at the frost covered table in front of her for several moments, tucked her glasses in the left hand pocket of her robe, then slowly rose from her chair to follow the other woman. As she passed through the room, she cast counterspells on the bookshelves to remove Julia's enchantments.

Once in the corridor, Miriana followed the trail of ice crystals up the stairs to an empty storeroom. When she entered the darkened chamber, she was greeted by the sound of Julia's sobs reverberating in the frigid blackness. Miriana called upon Lumia to light the room and saw her friend slumped in the furthest corner with her knees pulled tight to her chest.

"Jules?" she whispered.

"Go away," Julia sniffed.

Miriana approached the other woman slowly, afraid if she moved too suddenly she would find herself encased in ice. Julia didn't attempt to harm the mage, she just continued to cry. Miriana sat down beside her friend, and put her arm around the sobbing woman. Julia tried to shy away from the contact, but the older girl tightened her grip.

"Jules…" she began. "I wasn't trying to hurt you. I really wasn't. Quite the opposite in fact. I was putting off telling you because I wanted to keep from upsetting you for as long as possible. It was wrong. I…I'm sorry you had to find out from someone other than me."

Julia nuzzled her face against Miriana's shoulder. "What am I going to do without you Miri? You're my best friend…my only friend. Everyone else in this Maker-forsaken place hates me."

"They don't hate you, Jules. They just don't understand you the way I do."

"When you go, I'll have nothing…no one. The Knight Commander will probably order the Rite."

"They're not going to make you tranquil, Jules," Miriana assured her. "Wenda won't let them."

Julia peered up at the woman who had been her lover for the past six years. Her eyes had returned to their usual cornflower blue. "Isn't there some way to convince the First Enchanter to allow you to stay?"

Miriana shook her head. "No. I already asked Wenda. She said I have no choice in the matter."

It wasn't exactly a lie. She did ask to stay, but she didn't try very hard to talk the First Enchanter into changing her mind. The truth was, Miriana did want to leave Ostwick, and Julia was the reason for it. She had always suspected it, but over the previous year, she finally realized that Julia's affections were about more than mere friendship. Although Julia was her best friend, and even her lover, she just couldn't reciprocate those feelings. She loved Julia, just not in that way. There was only one escape from her situation. She had to leave Ostwick, forever.

Julia placed a gentle kiss on Miriana's lips. "You have no idea how much I'm going to miss you," she said.

The dark haired mage lightly stroked the other woman's cheek. "I'm going to miss you too, Jules. You're my dearest friend."

Julia's gaze deepened. The violet flecks within the calm, glimmering blue orbs shimmered brilliantly in Lumia's soft glow. "I love you," she whispered. "I have always loved you, Miri. And I always will."

Miriana smiled down at the woman in her arms. "I know. I love you too, Jules."

Julia pulled her lover's head toward hers and their lips met once again, but the kiss was deeper, more passionate. Julia lay back on the floor, taking Miriana with her. She ran the fingers of her right hand through Miriana's hair, as her left hand began undoing the eyehooks along the back of the older girl's robes.

"I need you," Julia whispered in a desperate, husky tone.

Miriana complied with her request by pulling her own robes over her head and removing her breast band. Julia lurched forward, capturing her lover's right nipple between her lips. She suckled it as Miriana unfastened her robes and pulled her free of them.

Once they were both completely nude, Miriana kissed her way down Julia's stomach to her thighs. When her tongue grazed the other woman's most sensitive spot, Julia lurched her hips forward and threw her legs over her lover's shoulders.

The two women enjoyed each other for what felt like hours there on the cold stone floor of the storeroom in the light wisp's glow. When they finally collapsed in each other's arms, both completely spent, Miriana fell asleep almost immediately.

Sometime later, she was awakened by someone gently shaking her shoulder. She opened her eyes to see Wenda's face, lit by a small ball of light within her palm.

"Miriana," she whispered. "It's time."

The younger mage nodded her head and slipped out of Julia's embrace, trying her best not to disturb the other woman. After replacing her robes, Miriana located a blanket on one of the shelves then covered Julia with it. She placed a soft kiss on her friend's forehead.

"Goodbye, Jules" she murmured before creeping to the door, relieved to finally be afforded the chances she could never have while Julia remained part of her life.


	14. Failure

_The fire in the center of the hut glowed bright, warming the modest wooden home against the harsh Frostback winter. Sithig pulled the coverlet from around his bare shoulders and chest and rested his arms atop the soft fur. The woman lying at his side rolled over and snuggled her cheek against his broad chest, a smile of satisfaction gracing her beautiful face. The warrior grazed gentle fingers up her unclad arm, reveling in the feel of her soft skin. It seemed forever since he last touched her._

 _The part of the bed where his feet rested shifted slightly, and Sithig closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep. Small, slow impressions in the feather mattress alerted him to the advance of an impending attack. The Avvar smiled and braced himself for the onslaught. There was a soft bounce to the bed, prompting him to lift his hand in the air to stop the progression of a tiny body falling toward him. Sithig opened his eyes to see the disappointed frown of a small, blonde boy flailing against his palm._

 _"Da!" the child cried. "No fair!"_

 _Sithig chuckled as he lowered his son down to his chest and squeezed his shoulders in an affectionate hug then ruffled his hair. "I guess that means you will just have to try again tomorrow," he told the boy._

 _The auburn-haired woman next to him grinned, her emerald eyes sparkling against the fire's lambency. She gave a quick peck to her husband's lips then kissed the child's chubby cheek. Sithig gazed at her, his Kattrin, drinking in her beauty. He took hold of a lock of her wavy hair and lightly straightened it with the tips of his fingers then inhaled deeply as he marveled at its softness. She kissed him again, but allowed her lips to linger on his longer than the last time._

 _"How about some breakfast for my two strong warriors?" she asked before screwing up her face in mock concentration. "I am thinking…hearthcakes."_

 _Her words prompted the child to drop his knees to the bed and clap his small hands together with excitement. "With berries?" he giggled._

 _She cupped his chin and narrowed her lids with a grin. "Of course with berries. No good hearthcake can be made without berries."_

 _With those words, she threw back the fur blanket on her side of the bed and went to rise, but Sithig held her shoulder to prevent her leaving. He couldn't explain it. He didn't want to let her go. Maybe it was the dream he had awaken from. The vision of being surrounded by night-gangers and blood within high walls of crumbling stone, and before that…Kattrin's death. The image of his boy's lifeless eyes staring blankly up at him. His shame. His failure._

 _Kattrin's brow furrowed in confusion as she gazed back at him. "Not hungry this morning?" she questioned._

 _Tears welled up in Sithig's eyes as he drew her back into him. He swallowed past a tremendous knot then kissed the top of her head. Her hair smelled delicious, a blend of spring water, fresh milk, and honey. With his other arm, he pulled Amund tight to his chest. He wanted to keep them there with him like that forever, embracing the only things that mattered in his life._

 _Kattrin turned her face up to gaze into his eyes. A sad smile curled the corners of her mouth as her calloused fingers caressed his cheek. She seemed so distraught, so crestfallen. Her lips parted to release a quiet breath._

 _"You must awaken now, my brave warrior," she whispered. "The Lady says it is not yet time for your rest."_

* * *

The sound of heavy rain tapping the window above the bed forced Alistair to open his eyes. The rhythmic tick, ticking against the pane was like the beat of a drum pounding in his head. Every muscle in his body ached, leaving him to feel as if he had been mauled by an ogre. He scanned his surroundings as best he could without moving, and licked his lips, for all the good it did him. His mouth was so dry, he could have sworn someone poured a bucket full of sand into it.

 _Where the bloody fuck am I?_

He didn't recognize anything. He appeared to be in a wooden hovel of some sort with heavy moss thatch above his head. The smell of thick smoke and rot coupled with copper and pungent herbs hung in the air, prompting Alistair to gag despite the pain he knew it would cause to his tender throat.

The hut was stifling. With a good deal of effort, he slid his hands from under the blanket that covered him and realized he was completely nude. Somebody had taken his clothes. He shifted his left elbow intending to lean on it so he could sit upright, and it grazed against something cold and clammy.

He dropped his head to the side only to be greeted by the sight of Solona lying next to him. The injured warrior emitted a sharp gasp. Her skin was completely pale, as white as winter, and her lips held an undertone of light blue. Forgetting his own pain, Alistair rolled over and placed his ear against her chest in an effort to discern a heartbeat.

 _Please…Maker, please let her be alive._

He gave a heavy sigh when he finally made out a slow, faint palpitation beneath her ribs. She still lived, but just barely. He pulled himself up to prop his weight on his forearm and stared down at her face. With the fingers of his right hand, he brushed the fringe of sable hair from her brow as the tears he was attempting to hold back broke through in gut wrenching sobs. She was so cold, so lifeless.

Gathering her in his arms, he drew her limp body into his chest and held her close. What was he supposed to do without her? She was dying and there wasn't a Maker damned thing he could do to stop it.

As he rocked her gently in his embrace, he placed his cheek to her temple. When she was still in the throes of the taint following her Joining, his voice seemed to calm her and kept her from falling into the abyss. Maybe he could reach her the same way this time.

"Solona," he whispered hoarsely through his tears. "You've got this. You are the strongest person I know. You're not going to let _this_ beat you, are you? Come on. Fight!"

Alistair entangled his hands in her dark hair at the back of her head and squeezed her tighter. His sobs grew more intense. How would he ever make it without her? If she perished, the only light in his world would be extinguished. .

"Please," he wept. "You have to come back…Come back to me, sweetheart. Don't leave me…Please don't leave me…I love you."

He finally spoke the words which had lingered in his heart, but they brought no joy, no sense of relief. She didn't hear them. She would never hear them. She was alive, yet dead, hovering somewhere between the real world and the veil, but not for long. He recalled the kiss his fear prompted him to misplace, and the missed opportunity to share with her his true feelings, feelings she would never know.

 _Maker, please…If you choose to take her, show mercy. Take me with her._

* * *

Sithig was barely conscious and having a difficult time opening his eyes. The aromatic blend of cedarwood, mesquite, rosemary, and sagebrush wafted in the air around him. It was a familiar fragrance, prompting memories of home and long lost kin. Astrid, his clan's shaman, would often employ the burning of such herbs when attempting to heal wounds that refused to mend on their own.

 _It is a dream, you fool. No more real than the one of Kattrin and Amund._

The last thing the warrior remembered before his body completely collapsed from exhaustion was finding his way to the forest north of Ostagar. It was slow-going, making his way across the battlefield, as he crawled over fallen bodies. To make matters worse, night-gangers still lurked about, prompting the Avvar to proceed by inches. He was forced to play dead so often in the presence of the creatures, he began to wonder if such an endeavor was fruitless. Then he remembered the words of his wife.

 _The Lady says it is not yet time for your rest._

Kattrin's voice in the back of his mind bolstered his resolve and inspired him to keep going. To keep moving at all cost. By the time he reached the inside of the grove, however, his nerves were raw and his strength had left him.

Sithig urged his lids to open, incited his aching muscles to at least shift, but his efforts were in vain. He was alive. He was aware of that much. But if he wasn't dead, where was he? He was so very tired. Too tired to move. Too tired to think. He inhaled a ragged breath and the world went black once more.

Somewhere in the darkness, beyond the nightmares of battles lost and the deaths of clan and kin, a woman's voice, unfamiliar and serene, whispered to Sithig.

 _Brave warrior, do not be downhearted. When your strength is regained, travel toward the village of Redcliffe. Along that road, you will find the path you seek._

With those words, a pair of golden eyes pierced the gloom. They were both familiar and foreign. A moment later, the keeper of that raptor-like gaze was revealed. The image of a pale woman with ebony hair wearing a long, black dress floated before him, and the Avvar knew her at once. She was the omen of warning. The Wandering Witch.

* * *

Alistair's eyes burned from all the crying he had done, and they were so swollen he could scarcely open them. How long had he been lying there with Solona wrapped in his arms? He had awoken and succumbed to sleep so many times, he lost track. He remembered the hovel being pitch black a few times during his conscious moments, so he knew it had been at least a day. Beyond that, he had no idea.

He slid his fingers up from where his hand rested on the mage's shoulder to the side of her neck. His fingertips found the spot that would help him determine if she still lived. Her skin still felt like ice against his, but he distinguished a faint pulse. Breathing a sigh of relief, he embraced her fully once more.

"And how do you think your fellow Warden will react when she wakes up and finds you squeezing the life out of her like that? Hmm?"

Alistair nearly jumped from his skin at the sound of the creaking voice behind him. He whirled around to be greeted by the amused, golden gaze of the old crone they had spoken to before the battle. She cackled at his bewildered expression and the guilt-laden flush of his cheeks as she rocked her battered wooden chair back and forth. Suddenly it all made sense. The moss roof, the horrible smell. They were in Flemeth's hut. A cold chill ran up his spine.

The warrior glanced behind the witch and spotted his clothes and weapons piled neatly atop a rickety wooden chair next to the small fireplace in the corner. She watched him with a curious gleam in her eyes, anticipating his intentions. He felt Solona's frigid arm against his back. He had to protect her.

In a flash, he lunged toward the old woman, hoping to topple both her and her chair, buying him enough time to reach his sword. Alistair's upper body barely had time to clear the mattress before an unseen hand slammed into his chest and shoved him flat onto his back atop the bed. When he attempted to rise, he found he was unable to move, as if some outside force had taken control of his entire body.

Panic and bile rose up into the back of his throat as he struggled against his invisible bonds. It was no use, he was completely paralyzed. They were going to die, and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. The thought of Solona lying helpless next to him served as a reminder. Perhaps he could do something, after all. Alistair cleared his mind of everything to focus on a mental image of a candle's flame flickering in the darkness. He concentrated on the way it moved and the tiny tendrils of smoke billowing up from the bottom. The grey wisps began floating toward him, bringing with them the power to negate the spell. Before it could reach him, however, the light was snuffed out, leaving him feeling empty and cold.

The old hag laughed. It was a low, hoarse sound which turned the former initiate's insides to mush.

"My, but that is quite the talent, lad," she told him. "I wonder, how did you come to possess such a gift?"

It wasn't a question. Not really. And even if it was, Alistair was hardly in the position to answer. The thump of her chair's back rocker banging into the floor echoed throughout the small room. The front rocker hadn't even had time to tap the hardwood before the witch was leaning over the warrior with a wide, toothy grin. There was no mirth in her yellow eyes, only danger and warning.

"Now," she drawled. "If you have relinquished your vain attempts to vanquish an old woman in her own home, young man, I think it is high time you and I had a conversation."

Alistair tried to speak, but his jaw was locked tight. He couldn't even manage a proper glare at the old woman. She arched a brow before flashing a wicked smirk then, with a flick of her wrist, waved her hand. The warrior found that, although he was still unable to move the rest of his body, he had at least regained his powers of speech.

"And what is it you'd like to discuss?" he questioned in a snarky tone. "Perhaps you'd like to trade recipes? I must apologize, though. I don't know one hundred ways to cook a Grey Warden."

She chuckled with a knowing smile. "So much about you is uncertain. A lost child, wandering alone in the darkness. Much like your father when last I saw him."

Alistair's eyes widened. Like his father? Did she really know who he was? Who his father was? How was that even possible?

"You have his look, you know?" she continued. "Except for the ears, of course. Too much of a point at the tops."

Alistair relaxed his face, trying to regain his composure. "Lots of people have points to the tops of their ears."

"Yes," she chortled. "Elves especially."

He scowled. Why was she bringing up elves? His mother may have been a servant, but from what he knew of her, she had been human.

"Just so you know," he retorted. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"My," the witch said. "Such unbecoming manners…for a prince. But, what can one expect from a boy reared among horses?" Her smile broadened when she recognized the truth of her words in the warrior's hazel eyes. "I met him once, your father." She indicated to the seat that held Alistair's gear. "Thirty years ago, he sat in that very chair."

Was there any legitimacy to her words? Did Maric really pay a visit to Flemeth all those years ago? His lids narrowed as he attempted to gauge the truth of her words. The witch may have been dangerous, even mad, but she didn't lie. In that fact, at least. Alistair's gaze dropped to his left to regard the mage lying at his side.

"Let her go," he offered. "And you can do anything you like with me. But I have to warn you, there's no one in Thedas who would give you a copper for my hide, let alone the rest of me."

"You are worth more than you can possibly imagine, lad." She glanced down at Solona before returning her attention to him. "As is she. I did not rescue you from that tower to kill you or hold you for ransom. A more important destiny awaits you both."

"You…rescued us?" he asked with incredulity. "But how? Why?"

"I have my methods and my own reasons. For now, we shall say it is because only two Grey Wardens remain to stand against the darkspawn, and both lie here in my bed."

Alistair swore he felt his heart stop. His stomach churned and he thought he might vomit. The sting of hot tears burned his already red and swollen eyes.

"Sithig," he breathed.

"Your large friend has fallen, just as the rest of the Grey Wardens who fought in that hopeless battle…Just as your brother has fallen."

When Alistair's heart finally began to beat again, he thought it might pound out of his chest. His breaths came in short, quick gasps, leaving him dizzy. Sithig was gone. Duncan. Cailan.

The warrior choked on the bile that touched the back of his tongue. He was never supposed to be the one to wear that damned crown. He was always told he would never be king. Why was this happening? What did he ever do in his miserable life to deserve such a fate?

Cailan tried to tell him. To warn him. He knew in that instant exactly what had taken place. One word escaped his lips.

"Loghain."

"Yes," the witch confirmed. "Your father failed to listen to a warning given to him all those years ago. A warning of betrayal at the hands of his most trusted companion."

"He'll die for this," Alistair spat. "I swear to the fucking Maker I will run Loghain through myself."

" _That_ is entirely up to you, lad," she said.

The witch straightened her back before hobbling to the other side of the bed toward the exit. Her fingers grazed the toes of Solona's feet, but the young mage didn't stir at the contact.

"And what about her?" Alistair questioned. "Is she going to be alright?"

The Warden felt the spell on his body release, leaving him free to move. His hands balled into fists as he eyed his sword lying nearby, but he knew it wasn't worth the effort. Flemeth would simply paralyze him again if he tried.

"You are going to need that," she informed him as she opened the door. "Join me outside. I will send Morrigan in to tend to your fellow Warden."

"No," he refused. "I will not leave her."

Alistair had no intention of abandoning Solona. Not even for a moment. He would remain at her side, no matter what.

"I would think you would have learned by now," she began as she waggled her fingers in the air. As soon as she began the motion, Alistair's legs started twitching uncontrollably. The muscles of his calves spasmed with excruciating pain. "I have my own methods for obtaining results." She grinned as the spasms moved up to his thighs. "Shall I continue?"

He gritted his teeth against the assault. If the witch advanced any further up, the torment would become more than any man could bear. He waggled his head.

"Fine!" he seethed. "I'll do anything you want. Just make it stop for fuck's sake."

She twitched her fingers faster, and Alistair was on the verge of blacking out. The progression of her attack continued upward at a rapid pace.

"Manners, my young prince," she crowed.

"Alright!" he screamed with tears spilling down his cheeks. "Please! Please make it stop."

The spasms stopped as quickly as they began, but his muscles still burned from overuse. Alistair panted, fearing he would never catch his breath again. The witch glared at him as her fingers began to move once more.

"You have five minutes, lad," she told him. "I suggest you hurry."

Once outside, Alistair began to pace back and forth across the length of a small pond that lay several yards away from the front door. The witch may have kicked him out of the hut, but he would be damned if he lost sight of it. He didn't trust the old crone, and he certainly didn't trust her daughter, especially not where Solona was concerned. To make matters worse, the oppressive ambience of dark magic surrounding him was disorienting. It felt hungry, alive, as if it desired to swallow him whole.

"Relax, lad," Flemeth told him as she gathered wild herbs from the ground and placed them into the shabby, reed basket in her hand. "Your fellow Warden will join us soon."

He paused to regard the ancient woman with a sneer. "You'll forgive me if I don't trust the words of a witch."

"My," she chortled. "But that is quite the temper you possess."

"Fuck off," Alistair mumbled under his breath as he resumed traipsing back and forth along a short, unseen path.

He half expected the old hag to blast him with a spell, but he was beyond caring at that point. He was hungry, sore, and most of all worried for Solona. He shouldn't have left her. He should have stayed by her side no matter what Flemeth did to him.

On top of all that, he was still feeling the loss of Sithig, Duncan, and even his brother. There was also the nagging in the back of his mind that he would be expected to take the throne, and there was a good chance he would have to get past Loghain and Anora to do so. Then, of course, there was the Blight and the fact that there were only two Grey Wardens left in all of Ferelden to stop it. It would take months for word to reach Weisshaupt that more Wardens were needed.

Everything, all of it, was just too much for Alistair to bear. How was one man supposed to deal with so much insanity heaped upon his shoulders? Ferelden was headed for complete disaster, and, in the end, it would be all his fault. His failure.

The Blight was just beginning. Ostagar was only a taste of what was to come. The horde would eventually move north from the Wilds and the true destruction of Ferelden would commence. They would decimate everything in their path. With no outside aid, the country would die along with all her people.

At that moment, the rest of Ferelden was unaware of anything more than rumors and speculation, standing in the calm eye of the storm. Whether the Fereldan people were prepared or not, war was coming and nothing would be left at the end. How in the Maker's name were a single warrior and a mage expected to face such insurmountable odds alone?

Alistair halted his pacing and ambled toward the stagnant pond. He looked out over the marsh, past the tall reeds and heaved a long sigh. He was tired of it all already. Tired of feeling so lost, so hopeless. He was sick of starting over with nothing left to show for his life.

He peered up at the darkened sky, its grey clouds reflecting his mood. The Wardens had fallen. The king had fallen, and soon everything would be destroyed. Tears filled his hazel eyes then spilled down his cheeks. Maybe he should just take Solona and get out of Ferelden. The war would carry on without them, after all.

 _Solona_

How would she feel if he told her that he planned to give up? Would she agree and go with him? Or would his cowardice and despair drive her away forever?

Alistair pictured her face, the determination in those lapis eyes, and a ray of hope entered his crestfallen heart. In such a bleak, dark future, she would be the light that would guide him. He would continue to fight, to rail against impossible odds for her. After a life of forever feeling out of place, he had finally found his home and he would withstand any enemy to preserve it.

No matter what his bloodline dictated, he was no king, no leader of men, but he would follow Solona into any battle and submit to her command. He would act as her general, offering his insight when asked, but the reins would be hers.

* * *

The sound of a door slamming shut woke Solona from a dreamless sleep. Across her forehead lay a hand with thin, calloused fingers. The mage opened her lids to the image of an ebony haired woman with golden eyes and shoulders draped in a silk, crimson scarf. She was familiar, as if a vision from some far away dream, but it was difficult to recall through the thick fog in her mind and memory.

Being proficient in the school of Entropy, Solona recognized the effects of a sleeping spell right away, but there was something else there. Something darker. By the gnawing hunger in her belly, the mage estimated she had been under the odd enchantment for at least a day, probably closer to two.

Solona squeezed her lids tight and focused on trying to remember how she got there, wherever there was. The last thing she recalled was being surrounded by horrendous, tainted creatures and her ability to manipulate the Fade waning. She reached further back in her memory and recalled a forest with bones hanging from the trees with a dark haired woman leading them through.

"Morrigan?" she asked.

The hint of a smirk emerged on the witch's face as she retrieved a small bowl from the bedside table. "Yes, 'tis I," she confirmed. "You have been asleep for some time. Mother thought you may be hungry."

A low rumbling sound emanated from Solona's stomach, confirming the mage's need for sustenance. She was famished, but she didn't fully trust Morrigan, especially considering she had just woken from the effect of a witch's spell. She regarded the dark haired woman and the bowl in her hands with suspicion.

"I cannot fault you for being skeptical, Grey Warden," said the witch. "You may test the soup if you like." She cocked a brow. "You _do_ possess such a simple ability, do you not?"

"Of course I do," Solona confirmed with an indignant scowl. "I am no apprentice just out of my first year."

Morrigan mirrored the Warden's expression as she passed the bowl to her. "There is no need for such petulance," she chided in a supercilious tone. "I am only trying to help."

Holding the bowl in one hand, Solona hovered the other above it and concentrated on discerning its ingredients. When she was satisfied that the dish contained no more than a meager lot of vegetables and innocuous spices, she presented the other woman with a tilt of her head.

"It seems harmless enough," the Warden confirmed. "May I have a spoon, or do you expect me to just sip it straight out of the bowl?"

The witch chuckled as she presented Solona with the appropriate eating utensil. "Mother is waiting outside whenever you are finished. She requests that you speak with her before you depart."

The Warden lifted the soup laden spoon to her mouth but stopped short. "Any clue why?"

Morrigan shrugged. "Mother rarely tells me of her plans. I am simply relaying a message."

Solona took a bite of the soup and nearly gagged from the taste of it. Not only was it lukewarm, it may have been one of the most Maker awful things she had ever tasted. The vegetables were obviously not fresh and the horrible blend of spices used did nothing to cover up that fact. She grimaced and quickly dropped the spoon inside the concoction before placing the bowl back on the small table next to the bed. When Morrigan scowled at her, the younger woman regained her usual haughty countenance and smacked her lips.

"I suppose I wasn't as hungry as I thought," she lied.

The witch harrumphed then spun on her heel to exit the hut. As she stomped away, a thought occurred to Solona. She was alone with Morrigan. She took a quick glance around the room and saw no sign of Alistair or even that he had been there with her. The hunger pangs in her guts gave way to panic. He was gone. Had he perished or simply left her?

"Morrigan," she blurted, her tone more desperate than she intended it to be. "Where is Alistair?"

The witch frowned. "You mean the smaller of the dimwitted ones that were with you before?"

"Yes," Solona confirmed, doing her best to disguise her distress from both her face and her voice.

Morrigan's demeanor was indifferent. "He is outside with Mother."

A sense of pure relief washed over Solona with those words. She was unsure what she would have done if the witch's answer had been different. Alistair had become such an integral part of her life, of her. The thought of losing him, it was more than she could bear. She pulled back the coverlet and rose from the bed.

"Tell your mother I will meet with her as soon as I am dressed," Solona informed the other woman.

"Very well," the witch said. As she turned to leave, she halted before circling back. Her brow furrowed as she folded her arms over her chest. "I am curious," she admitted. "Most would want to know how they arrived here, especially considering where you were when Mother rescued you."

Although Solona was interested in learning the answer to that question, it wasn't first and foremost on her mind at the moment. She already had her suspicions about what had occurred at Ostagar. Loghain's behavior denoted a man who was paranoid and angry, desperate and scheming. It was clear to Solona the general had been resolved to do whatever was necessary to achieve his desired result. It was a bearing the mage had seen too many times in the Circle from entirely too many people.

The only thing that really concerned her at that time was Alistair. Morrigan had said he was outside with Flemeth, but she failed to note his condition. Given the fact that the two Wardens were among witches, didn't necessarily mean he was alive and well. Solona had to find out for herself whether or not her companion was truly safe.

The Warden shrugged. "I'm alive," she stated matter-of-factly. "For now, that's all I really need to know. The details of the how's and why's can be filled in later, can they not?"

The other woman smiled. "Yes," she responded. "I suppose they can."

* * *

Alistair was disappointed when the door to the cottage opened and Morrigan exited into the yard and disappeared around the side of the house. Flemeth had said that Solona would join him soon, but he was sick of waiting. He needed to know that she was alright, and until he saw her with his own eyes, his worry and anger would continue to grow. He heard the old woman suck her teeth and turned in time to see her shake her head.

"Such a shame," she muttered. "So lovely, yet so disappointing."

The witch's odd statement prompted Alistair to forget his troubles long enough to beg the question, "What's disappointing?"

"Why, my Morrigan, of course," she told him as if the answer should be obvious. "The girl possesses talent, but she lacks certain necessary qualities."

"Qualities?" the warrior asked.

"Simply an observation," the witch informed him with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Nothing of concern to you, lad. The only thing you need to know is that she will prove herself useful in your fight against the darkspawn."

Alistair's brow lifted, "And what is that supposed to mean?" he questioned.

"Exactly how it sounds," she replied in a flat tone. "Morrigan will be leaving with you and your fellow Warden."

"Absolutely not," he argued. "We don't need her."

The old woman scoffed. "I daresay you need all the help you can get, lad. Or do you intend to take on the entire horde on your own, just you and your companion? It hardly seems like a sound plan."

The warrior shook his head. "Does Morrigan even want to come along? She doesn't really seem like the social type to me."

"My daughter understands the threat of this Blight, just as I do," she answered. "She will do what is required of her."

Alistair turned his attention back to the pond and crossed his arms over his chest. As much as he didn't want to admit it, Flemeth was right. They needed help. He just wasn't sure how much help Morrigan would prove to be. They had to find a way to defeat the darkspawn, to at least have a force strong enough to stand against the horde.

Then he recalled the treaties. Solona had mentioned that she forgot to give them to Duncan while they were spanning the Tower of Ishal. He wasn't sure how it worked exactly, but he knew the documents enlisted the aid of the dwarves of Orzammar, the Circle of Magi, and the Dalish elves. Perhaps if all those groups banded together they might have a chance. A very slim one, but it was better than nothing.

As he contemplated the best way to approach each of the groups, the door to the hovel opened once again. Alistair's heart began beating so quickly with anticipation he thought it might explode. He inhaled a deep breath and held it before turning around, praying it was Solona exiting the house.

A small smile curved Solona's lips as her eyes locked with his causing him to exhale with a resonant sigh. The relief he felt couldn't be measured. Although she appeared to be slightly worse for the wear, she seemed fine. The slight flush of her cheeks had returned and her lips no longer held a hue of blue.

Alistair hurried toward her, doing his best to keep from sprinting in his excitement. When he met her halfway, he took her in his arms and hugged her close to his chest. Tears of relief spilled from his eyes to dampen her sable hair. He had never felt so grateful for anything.

"You're alive," he whispered.

"Yes," she said, her voice muffled by his armored tunic. "But I won't be for long if you continue to crush me like this."

Reluctantly, he backed away from her. She straightened her uniform before peering up at him with a playful scowl. "Afraid you were going to be left alone to fight the darkspawn by yourself?"

He gave a small chuckle. "Of course," he teased, his eyes still glistening. "You're supposed to protect me, remember?"


	15. The Refugee

Gabrielle Hawke opened the front gate that would lead her down a narrow path to her final delivery for old Barlin for the day. From where she stood, she could make out a modest stone cottage with a bright red door and shutters nestled among the trees of a small glade of pine and oak. The sound of snow crunching beneath her worn brown leather boots echoed in the air as she pulled her oversized heavy coat tighter around her petite frame. The bottom edges of the coat, which once belonged to her father, dragged the ground, collecting a good deal of the powder as she went.

To anyone watching from a distance, Gabrielle would most likely be mistaken for an adolescent boy wearing his father's hand-me downs. At only five feet tall and just shy of ninety pounds, she was thin as a birch sapling, and the baggy clothes did nothing to refute that assumption. Even the way she wore her dark sable hair, tied into a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck, denoted a more masculine appearance.

Before Gabrielle was halfway down the lane, the door of the cottage opened, and a small girl of nearly five years rushed out to greet her. The young woman knelt down and held her arms wide open in anticipation of the child's embrace. Long dark pigtails bounced against the girl's slight shoulders as her short legs maneuvered through the snow. She wore no cloak or boots, just a violet smock made of wool and a pair of house slippers.

"Emma!" a woman cried from the door before taking off after the girl. "You need a coat!"

Ignoring her mother completely, Emma continued to run until she leapt into the small woman's arms. "Gabby!" the child giggled.

Gabrielle pulled the front of her unbuttoned coat around the girl's body and pulled her close to her chest. "It's alright, Raeanne," she told the other woman. "I've got her."

Raeanne had been the Hawke family's nearest neighbor on the outskirts of Lothering for years, but it wasn't until after Emma's birth that Gabrielle and Raeanne became friends. There was a terrible spring storm the night Raeanne's partner, Diane, went into labor. Raeanne set out into the village to retrieve the local midwife, but she refused to go out in the downpour. She then went to the physician, who merely slammed the door in her face. In desperation, Raeanne finally ended up on the Hawke's doorstep, begging Gabrielle's father to help her.

Although he had tried to keep his magic a secret all those years, Malcolm didn't hesitate to act when Raeanne asked for his aid. He ordered Gabrielle to retrieve his medical kit and bring it along. By the time Raeanne returned home with the healer, both Diane and the baby were in trouble. The mother had been pushing for quite some time, but the child was breech. There wasn't time to turn the baby around, and Diane was losing blood too quickly, so Malcolm made the decision to cut the child from its mother's womb.

Once the baby was free, Malcolm placed her in Gabrielle's arms then went to work on Diane. Unfortunately, it was too late. While Malcolm Hawke was an exceptionally skilled healer, he could do nothing to replace the amount of blood that had been lost. Diane didn't even have the opportunity to hold Emma before she passed.

Because he realized how grief stricken Raeanne was over the death of her partner, Malcolm offered to leave Gabrielle to help with the newborn's care over the following few weeks. In that short time, Gabrielle grew very attached to both Emma and her mother. Even after Emma's biological father, Jacob, agreed to marry Raeanne to help raise the child, Gabrielle remained a prominent figure in their lives and visited as often as her busy schedule allowed.

When Raeanne finally caught up to them, she placed her hands on her hips and glowered at the child. "Emma Diane Barten," she scolded. "How many times do I have to tell you...?"

"Sorry, Mama," the girl apologized, her rosebud mouth set in a pout.

The mother shook her head with a smile of resignation as she ran her fingers along Emma's right braid. A chilled wind blew across the landscape, compelling Raeanne's long chestnut locks to flutter in the breeze. Pulling her heavy wool cloak tighter to her chest, she shivered against the cold.

"Come on inside," she said. "Before we all catch our deaths out here."

Gabrielle shifted Emma's body to better balance both their weights and followed Raeanne into the cottage. Once inside, she set the girl down and removed her coat and boots. The hem of the loose linen shirt she wore hung down past her knees over a pair of oversized, wool trousers which had to be held up by a belt wrapped twice around her waist. Raeanne scowled at the other woman.

"Gabrielle?" she questioned. "Are you ever going to stop wearing those ridiculous rags?"

The smaller woman exhaled an annoyed sigh. "They're not rags, Rae. They were my father's."

Her friend's expression softened. "I know, but sweetie…he's been gone for nearly three years. Not to mention the fact that he was nearly a foot and a half taller than you…and a man."

Gabrielle rolled her eyes. She hated the way everyone around her was always trying to change her appearance. As far as she was concerned, there was only one reason women dolled themselves up in dresses and makeup, and that was to attract men. To Gabrielle, that was about as hopeless as a nug sprouting wings and taking flight. There wasn't a man in Thedas who would ever find interest in her.

Besides being too short, she had no breasts or hips, nothing to distinguish her from a boy of twelve or thirteen. On top of that, her dark brows were too thick as were her broad lips, the skin of her cheeks and broad nose was blemished with freckles, and her wide nostrils were set too high above her mouth. In fact, the only thing Gabrielle liked about her appearance were her eyes, which were the shape of rounded almonds with crystal green-blue irises, and even those were forever plagued by dark circles in the hollows beneath them.

The truth was, even if there was any man in all of creation who could look past her physical flaws, there was still one very large and glaring problem. Gabrielle was an apostate, just as her father had been, just as her younger sister was. Malcolm taught her from the young age of seven, when she discovered she possessed the gift, that she could never become close to anyone outside her own family. She had to be forever vigilant in never allowing others to find out who she truly was. So, she lived her life as a mundane, only practicing her gift around the confines of her own home, just the way her father taught her and her sister. The only exception to that had been Raeanne, and that was only after Gabrielle discovered Diane had been an apostate as well.

"Not you too," Gabrielle moaned. "Look, I'm comfortable in these clothes, alright? Besides, it's not as if I can afford new ones, and I refuse to wear that infernal barmaid's dress outside of work."

Raeanne's brow furrowed as her russet brown eyes filled with pity. She brushed a loosened strand of dark curls from the other woman's forehead and tucked it behind her ear. With an empathetic smile, she wet her thumb with her mouth then rubbed at a black smudge on the apostate's cheek.

"You're a beautiful girl, Gabrielle," she told her. "There's no reason to hide it behind men's clothes and a dirty face."

The smaller woman pulled her friend's hand away and took a step back. "Liars go to the void, Rae," she argued. "And you're on a fast track there with that bullshit."

"What have I told you about that?" Raeanne questioned with a scowl. "Don't make me get the soap."

"Sorry, mama," the apostate retorted with a grin.

When she felt a tug on her shirt, she looked down to find Emma wearing an eager expression. "Gabby, can you make fire?"

Before she could reply, Raeanne interjected. "Not today, Emma. It's too cold outside."

Ignoring her mother, the little girl stuck out her lower lip in a pout. "Please, Gabby," she begged as her ice blue eyes began to glisten.

Gabrielle was always amazed at Emma's ability to spawn tears so quickly and easily. The girl knew she could talk the woman into almost anything in a bid to prevent her from crying. It was manipulative as the void, but it never failed.

"Maybe for a few minutes," the apostate replied before peering up at Raeanne. "If your mother says it's alright."

The other woman heaved a sigh. "It would be nice if you backed me up at least once, Gabrielle."

The mage's aquamarine eyes twinkled with mischief. "I don't have to," she smirked. "I'm not her mother."

"Alright, fine," Raeanne relented. Emma tried to take off toward the door, but her mother stopped her by grabbing her shoulder. "Coat, boots, and gloves first, young lady."

"But, mama," the girl quibbled.

Raeanne folded her arms across her chest and waggled her head. "No buts. Coat, boots, and gloves or you're not going outside."

The child glowered up at her mother before stomping away to don her winter gear. Once she was ready, the three of them headed into the back yard where Gabrielle began throwing small fireballs at the ground, melting a large patch of snow and scorching the earth beneath. Emma was perched upon the fence and began merrily clapping her hands at the display. As she bounced up and down on the rail, Raeanne stood ready at the child's back, awaiting her inevitable fall. When the girl finally toppled backward, her mother grabbed her then threw her into her arms.

"Enough for today," said Raeanne before lowering her daughter to the ground. "Now get back in the house."

"But, Mama," the little girl protested.

Her mother held up her hand to prevent any further argument. "I said no, Emma," she refused. "Now go into the house. It's almost suppertime."

"It's not fair," the child sulked.

"Well, life just isn't fair sometimes, little one," her mother told her. "You might as well get used to it now."

Emma crossed her arms and stamped her foot before turning toward the house with a huff and marching away. Gabrielle laughed as she leaned against the fence railing and watched the girl until she disappeared into the cottage. As soon as Emma was gone, Raeanne exhaled a long breath.

"What am I going to do with that child?" she questioned rhetorically before returning her attention to her friend. "I've got a pot on the stove. What do you say to some tea and a few of my special brownies?"

"Elfroot or Lotus?" Gabrielle questioned with an impish grin.

Raeanne arched a brow. "Do you really think I'd offer you a lotus brownie after the last time?" she asked. "You damn near set fire to the glade."

"Now who needs her mouth washed out with soap?" Gabrielle teased as she followed her friend to the back door.

"The difference is," Raeanne said from over her shoulder. "I don't speak like that around Emma. She looks up to you, you know."

The apostate shook her head. "Maker only knows why."

Once inside, Gabrielle removed her coat and boots and sat down at the kitchen table. After Raeanne poured three cups of tea and placed a plate in front of each chair, she served a small brownie to her guest, one for herself, and two sugar cookies for Emma. After settling down in her seat, she took a sip from her cup then frowned.

"I haven't been to the village since the beginning of last week," she professed. "Any news of Ostagar?"

Gabrielle put down her cup, her brow creased with concern. "A few soldiers have trickled in," she began, but paused for a moment to consider the best way to break the news to her friend.

When word of an impending Blight hit Lothering, Arl Bryland sent a few of his soldiers to recruit for the army headed to Ostagar. Feeling it was his civic duty, Raeanne's husband was one of the first to enlist. After the refugees from further south began pouring into Lothering, Raeanne had done her best to stay out of the village because hearing stories of the monstrous creatures put her on edge.

"And?" Raeanne prompted.

The apostate breathed a long sigh before placing her hand atop her friend's. "Ostagar was lost, Rae. From the little I've heard in the tavern…They're saying the Grey Wardens betrayed the king and got everyone killed."

The other woman's eyes widened with disbelief. "The Wardens?" she questioned.

Gabrielle shook her head. "That's the official story, but I'm not sure I believe it. There were whispers among a few of the men that Teyrn Loghain retreated before his men were called to attack."

Raeanne's gaze moved to Emma who was sitting across the table from her. Her brow creased with worry and tears began to form in her brown eyes. Gabrielle couldn't even imagine what her friend was feeling in that moment. Although she and Jacob married so they could raise Emma together, the couple grew to love each other over the subsequent years.

"I've had this feeling," Raeanne said, her tone lifeless and flat. "I wanted to wait…to be certain, but…I've decided that it would be best if Emma and I left for Highever. I have a cousin there who will take us in."

Gabrielle's gut lurched at that news. Raeanne had become like a sister to her and Emma a niece. She had already lost her father to some mysterious illness three years before. The idea of losing anymore family was almost more than the young apostate could bear. Family was everything to Gabrielle. There was nothing in the world that meant more. Although she didn't always get along with them, she would do anything to keep them safe, even if it meant losing her own life.

"Raeanne," the smaller woman whispered with tears flooding her eyes.

"Gabrielle, you know I love you, and I will miss you terribly," the other woman croaked. "But I have to do what's best for Emma. It's not safe here anymore."

"But…"

"Why don't you and your family come with us?" she asked. "My cousin surely knows someone who could put you up for a few weeks until you get settled in with a new job."

It was a good offer, but Gabrielle couldn't stomach the idea of relocating again. After spending over half her life moving from one hold of Ferelden to another, her family had finally found somewhere they could call home. She couldn't pick up and leave everything behind again on a mere chance that the darkspawn would attack Lothering.

"I…I can't," Gabrielle stammered. "I appreciate you asking, but…"

Raeanne nodded her understanding as she gripped the other woman's hand. She knew exactly what her friend was feeling. There were many times over the years since they became friends that Gabrielle mentioned how happy she was to be settled somewhere.

There was so much that Gabrielle wanted to say to Raeanne. She wanted her to know how much she appreciated having somewhere to go when things became too difficult at home. How she didn't think she could have made it through her father's death without the older woman's sympathetic ear. How Raeanne had become the older sister she never had, never thought she needed.

Before Gabrielle could convey the words, she was interrupted by a heavy pounding on the front door. Always vigilant of the possibility of templars discovering her gift, the apostate picked up Emma and rushed her into the next room. Even at such a young age, the child had begun to exhibit signs of magic and Gabrielle would not allow her to be taken, not as long as she still drew breath. Fortunately, Jacob had built a safeguard in the house before he left in the form of a small compartment beneath the bedroom floor. After throwing the rug back and opening the trapdoor, Gabrielle held her back to the wall and waited, praying to the Maker that the alcove wouldn't be needed. She placed her index finger over her lips to tell Emma to remain quiet as she eyed the front entrance through the minuscule crack in the bedroom door.

She watched Raeanne straighten the wrinkles from her dress then open the door to the sight of a man with cuts and bruises all over his face. He wasn't a templar, but he had the hardened look of a soldier about him. He spoke to Raeanne for only a few moments before she fell to her knees and began sobbing. Gabrielle didn't need to hear the words. She knew it in that instant. Jacob was dead.


	16. The War Hound

Solona was exhausted by the time they set up camp for the night. She had pushed all day to reach Lothering before nightfall, but skirmishes with small bands of darkspawn along the way impeded their progress. When dusk had settled across the horizon and the sunlight had waned to nothing, she was finally forced to settle in for the evening. Even as Grey Wardens, traveling after dark was too dangerous to risk, and making good time certainly wasn't worth dying for.

As Solona went to sit down on the fallen log Alistair had placed next to the fire, she spied Morrigan adding kindling to her own flame near the tree line. Every night was the same since leaving Flemeth's hut. Alistair would gather wood while Solona pitched her tent. When he returned, she would get the fire started while he set up his shelter. Morrigan, on the other hand, kept completely to herself. She would find a spot a good distance away from the others to set up her own little campsite with its own fire.

The first night they made camp, Solona tried to insist that the witch move closer to the Wardens for her own safety. That conversation did not go well. In the end, Solona finally determined it wasn't worth arguing about and left the woman be. Besides, the mage was to the point where she couldn't stand the bickering between Morrigan and Alistair that inevitably began within an hour of returning to the road and lasted until they were ready to call it a day. Solona did, however, make it a point to have at least a short debriefing with the witch every evening.

"Alistair," the mage called over to where her fellow Warden was putting the final touches on his shelter. "When you're finished, will you please start supper?"

He scowled at her. "Why is it that I'm always the one stuck with that job?"

Solona folded her arms over her chest. "Because I have never cooked a thing in my entire life," she told him. "Believe me, if there were any other options, I would be more than happy to take them."

His sour expression deepened. "You know, if it's that bad, you could always go foraging for berries, instead."

She arched a brow, "You may have something there. Being mauled by a wild animal in the dark might actually be preferable to your cooking."

"You know what Solona?" he asked with a sardonic glare as he raised his middle finger. "Kiss my ass."

"Not until after you've had a bath," she retorted.

Since leaving Flemeth's hut four days ago, things had grown steadily worse between Solona and Alistair. The occurrences of Ostagar and Morrigan's constant barrage of insults had put the warrior in such a foul mood that he spent most of his time sulking. The kind man she had grown to care for had become a completely different person.

Solona clutched the amulet at her chest and thumbed the tiny sword and flames before spinning on her heel and making her way to Morrigan's tent. In that short distance, she came to a very important decision. Alistair was going to talk to her that evening, whether he liked it or not. She had given him his distance in order to allow him time to calm down, but it was past time to confront him.

The mage stopped short before reaching Morrigan's personal campsite to regain her composure. After inhaling a calming breath, she released the charm and strode over to where the witch was warming her hands. The ebony haired woman regarded her with indifferent golden eyes as she waited for Solona to speak.

"Morrigan," the mage began. "How are you this evening?"

"I fare well," the witch replied. "As do you, I expect."

Solona hated the exchange of simple pleasantries. The same questions always asked, the unvarying responses given. It was a complete waste of time, of course, but a necessary undertaking to keep the peace. She imagined Morrigan felt much the same way.

"How much longer do you think it will be before we reach Lothering?" asked the mage.

"We should arrive in the village around midday tomorrow," the other woman replied. "Barring any unforeseen circumstances."

Solona gave a nod of acknowledgement. "And is there anything you need for tonight?"

Morrigan crossed her arms over her chest. "I believe I have everything I require."

"Very well," the mage said. "Let me know if that changes."

"Of course," the witch replied.

Solona turned to go back to her side of the camp, but was halted by the sound of Morrigan clearing her throat. She returned her attention to the witch. "Is there something on your mind?"

Morrigan's brow furrowed. "I have a wonder, Warden, if you will indulge me," she began. "You were a mage of the Circle, were you not?"

"Yes," Solona acknowledged.

Morrigan seemed to be attempting to formulate the exact question she wanted to ask. "I have heard that gifted such as yourself are often limited in their instruction, that they are weak in magic…But after observing you for the past few days, I have come to realize, you are not, and I wonder…Why is that?"

Solona shrugged. "I suppose that _is_ true of many mages. Most are taught just enough to learn to control their gift, and many are content with that. I, however, was not. I studied everything I was allowed in my chosen school, and a few things beyond. Unlike many, I was encouraged by older mages and enchanters to learn as much as I could."

"So, that is why you were chosen for the Grey Wardens?" the witch asked, her inquiry seeming more an assumption than a question.

"Actually," Solona replied. "I think it had more to do with the fact that I risked my life in the aid of a friend who was trying to escape."

Morrigan seemed surprised by the mage's admission. "So, you were unhappy in the confines of the Circle? I assumed you were indoctrinated to believe as your Chantry does about the evils of magic."

The mage emitted a bitter chuckle. "It is not _my_ Chantry. To be honest, I don't really believe in the Maker, especially not the bloody Chantry's version of Him. As far as being happy…How would you feel if you were locked away when you were five years old and told you would most likely never see the outside world again? Unless, of course, you were willing to be a shining example of the Chantry and the Circle's bullshit."

The witch straightened her shoulders. "I see," she said. "My curiosity has been sated for now. Thank you, Grey Warden."

"It's Solona," the mage corrected with a haughty tone. "I am more than my title."

"Of course," Morrigan concurred with a slight tilt of the head. "Good evening, then, _Solona_."

 _Well, at least it's a start._

Solona realized becoming acquainted with Morrigan wouldn't be an easy task. The woman was more guarded and aloof than she was, but given their unique circumstances, she felt it a necessary undertaking. She only hoped that chipping away at Morrigan's shell little by little would eventually work.

When she returned to the main camp, Alistair was just hanging the small cast iron kettle over the fire. As he began to toss the last of the meager vegetables into the pot, his face was set in the same angry scowl he had worn since the day they Flemeth's home. He had hardly spoken a word to her in days, and when he did, he was typically surly and abrupt. Whatever was going on, she planned to have it out with him before they went to bed that evening.

"How's it coming?" she asked as she took a seat on the log.

"Fine," he snapped before wiping his hands on his trousers and standing. He folded his arms over his chest and glared into the fire.

"Did I do something to you that I'm not aware of?" she asked in a cross tone. "If I did, you need to just go ahead and spit it out because I have completely had it with your poor attitude."

He inhaled a deep breath, his broad chest rising with the effort then slowly released it. He stood there for a long moment, continuing to concentrate on the flames. When he finally turned to face her, his hazel eyes shimmered against the firelight.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I've been a complete ass to you, and you didn't deserve that. I'm just so…"

Solona patted the wood to her right. "Come on," she ordered. "Sit." He sighed as he took a seat next to her. "Now," she continued. "You can either tell me what crawled up your ass and took up residence, or we can talk about something else to get your mind off it. It's entirely up to you."

He nodded with a slight chuckle. "Alright," he said before running his tongue across his lips. "The last time we really had a chance to talk, you told me about when you were taken to the Circle. Beyond that and the fact that you have a killer sword arm, I don't really know much about you."

She cocked a brow. "I could say the same thing about you, you know?"

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not talk about me tonight," he requested.

Solona eyed him with a pensive frown. He was certainly an enigma. Sometimes it felt as if he were two different people walking around in one deliciously handsome package. At times, he was childish with his strange sense of self-deprecating humor, and he was kinder than anyone she ever met without any regard to himself. Then, there was his other side. Hard and rugged, even commanding at times, and possessing a terrible temper. He wore his heart on his sleeve, yet he continued to evade questions about his true identity. All that, added to the fact that he seemed to know King Cailan personally, painted the portrait of a man who was much more than what he wanted others to see.

"Alright, let's compromise," she offered. "We shall play a little game I learned many years ago as a girl. It is called Confessions."

The warrior's brow creased with reluctance. "Alright," he said, dragging out the word. "And how do you play this…game?"

"It's simple really," Solona explained. "I ask a question, and you answer with the truth."

"And what if I don't want to answer the question?" he asked with a scowl.

"Then you must reveal something that you find embarrassing," she told him. "Then, when you are finished, you are allowed to ask a question of me."

"Fine," he said. "But I get to ask the first question."

She rolled her eyes. "Very well," she conceded with a resolute huff. "Ask your question."

 _Please don't ask about Anders._

He regarded her with narrowed lids then wet his lips. "When Duncan went to Kinloch, he was going there to recruit mages to fight at Ostagar. Yet, he returned with only you, which means you had to have been conscripted. So, my question is, what did you do to warrant the Right that was so bad Duncan feared asking for more mages to join you?"

Solona's eyes fluttered with astonishment. She suspected Alistair was more intelligent than he let on, but the way he formed his question left no doubt in her mind. He was both shrewd and clever. In fact, it seemed more like something Anders would ask.

The mage's fingers gripped the amulet that hung from her neck as she stared into his expectant hazel eyes. She caught sight of his ample lips and recalled the kiss he failed to grant her at Ostagar. Sweet Maker, how she wanted to taste those lips. When he scraped his thick tongue across them, a small gasp escaped her throat. The mental image of his mouth slowly making its way down her neck to her breasts incited a flush to her cheeks and a flood to her nethers.

His right brow lifted. "Are you alright?" he asked, before adding, "And no, that doesn't' qualify as my question."

Solona cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders. "I'm fine," she finally told him before beginning her story.

She told him about Jowan and how they met, about their friendship over the fourteen years they were at the tower together. While she talked, Alistair served the soup he cooked. It was terrible as usual, but Solona managed to keep that fact to herself as she continued her tale between bites. She related the story of how her best friend and his new girlfriend asked for her help and their trek through the basement to the repository. She spoke of the trap that had been set for them when they emerged from the lower levels and outlined the details of Jowan's escape and the aftermath. She told him everything. Everything but the parts about Anders, anyway.

The entire time she was speaking, Alistair didn't say a word. He only presented her with a nod on occasion and a small chuckle when the situation warranted it. He was attentive and interested, not unlike a student listening to an important lecture in preparation for an exam.

When her story was complete, she swallowed past a large lump in her throat, awaiting the backlash of his anger. Even if he had been conscripted before taking his vows, at the end of the day, Alistair was still a templar. She had abetted a maleficar, there was no way he would look past that. When he finally spoke, Solona nearly fainted from shock.

"I can't believe you told Greagoir that you wished Jowan would have killed him," he smirked. "I would have loved to have seen the look on that old bastard's face."

The mage waggled her head. "You aren't upset then?" she asked with bewilderment.

He shrugged. "You didn't know he was a blood mage when you agreed to help him, right?"

"No," she replied, surprised at his cavalier attitude about the situation.

He glowered at her, but it was an expression of jest not ire. " _You're_ not a blood mage, are you?"

" _No_ ," she answered.

"Then why would I be upset?" he questioned.

"I assumed that since you were a templar…" she began.

"I wasn't a templar," he sighed with frustration. "I was an initiate. Believe me, it wasn't anything I ever wanted." When her brows disappeared in confusion, he scowled at her. "Alright, but just so you know, this counts as the answer to your question." When Solona acknowledged his words with a nod, he continued. "I was born in Redcliffe. At least that's what I was told. I never knew my mother. She died when I was born. Arl Eamon took me in, but it was hardly a home. I slept in the stables since before I could remember, working as a servant.

"Eamon was kind enough to me, I suppose, when he actually acknowledged my presence, but it was nowhere near a real childhood. His wife, Isolde, despised me because…well, let's just say she had her reasons. She became pregnant when I was ten and convinced Eamon to send me away. So, he signed me over to the monastery in Bournshire, and I absolutely hated it there. My future was decided for me. I was never given the option to be anything but a templar or a brother."

So he lived his life as a stable boy, but why would the Arl of Redcliffe take him in, especially at such a young age? And why would the arlessa hate him and want him shipped off when she became pregnant? And then there was King Cailan. It just didn't add up, but at the same time, Solona couldn't detect even the hint of a lie in his eyes.

"What about…?" she began, but he held up a hand to stop her.

 _Shh,_ he prompted. "I thought I heard something."

Solona held her breath as she attempted to discern any sound over the crackling and popping of the fire. She sensed no darkspawn about, but it was possible there were wild animals in the woods. After a few seconds, she detected a rustling sound in the trees to her left. Almost simultaneously, she and Alistair stood and drew swords from their sheaths.

The warrior directed Solona by pointing to the left of where the sound had originated before slowly creeping around to the right. Without argument, the mage did as she was ordered. Deferring to Alistair's judgement, she sidled to the tree line and edged over to the area of the disturbance. Just as they had the source of the noise well flanked, the scant brush at the base of the trees parted to reveal a very large hound.

The mabari's fur appeared to be dark chocolate brown, but it was difficult to tell beneath all the blood matting its hair. Deep cuts riddled its muscular body, and there were patches where fur was actually missing entirely. Strings of white foam dripped from the corners of its mouth as it bared its teeth at the strangers before it. It emitted a low, rumbling growl before taking a step toward Alistair.

"Oh shit!" the warrior exclaimed as the mabari advanced on him.

"A bloody dog?" Solona questioned with disappointment. "What in the void are we supposed to do with a fucking dog?"

The sound of the mage's voice prompted the animal to turn toward her. She returned her sword to its sheath in the hopes it would convey to the hound that she meant it no harm, and trusting Alistair to protect her if it attacked. Lifting her hands in the air, she took a step back. The dog followed then regarded her with a menacing bark and a snap of its jaws.

" _Do_ something, you idiot," she hissed at her fellow Warden.

Alistair hurried over and put himself between the hound and Solona. With one hand raised, he knelt and placed his sword on the ground in front of him. Almost immediately, the mabari sat back on its rear haunches and tilted its head as it watched the man with an inquisitive expression. Alistair slowly moved his fingers toward the animal, preparing for it to bite. Instead, it lowered its head, giving the warrior its permission to be touched. With the hound's consent, Alistair closed the gap and gave it a light scratch behind the ears.

"Great," he said with a painted on smile and an overly friendly tone. "What in the bloody fuck am I supposed to do with a dog?"

"Can't you just shoo it away or something?" Solona questioned, still prepared to run if the situation warranted it.

The mage knew nothing about dogs. She had never even seen one before Ostagar. There were always cats scurrying about the tower chasing mice away. Oftentimes the apprentices and some of the mages would treat them as pets, but dogs never held enough interest for Solona to even read about them.

Alistair shook his head in dismay. "I don't think so," he claimed. "I'm pretty sure the thing has imprinted on me. It must have been separated from its owner at Ostagar."

It was then that Solona spied a small, metal plate hanging from the animal's collar. "Does that thing around its neck tell you anything about it?" she asked.

Alistair put his fingers behind the tag and squinted his eyes to make out the words etched into the plate. "I could use some light," he told her.

As Solona moved around to Alistair's side, the mabari growled at her. She retreated a step before calling a glowing orb into her hand and lowering it to the level of Alistair's cheek. The dog scrutinized every move she made with suspicion.

"The tag says his name is Harley," Alistair read before turning it over in his hand. A sharp gasp escaped his lips as he perused the other side. "He...he belonged to Fergus."

"Fergus?" Solona inquired.

After a long moment, he nodded and she swore she detected a tear shimmering in the corner of his eye. "Fergus Cousland."

"As in the Teyrnir of Highever Couslands?" she queried.

"Fergus was the Teyrn and Teyrna's only son," Alistair acknowledged. "If his mabari is here, that could only mean…"

Solona placed her free hand on her fellow Warden's shoulder. Fergus Cousland was someone Alistair obviously knew. That cemented his ties to the king in her mind.

"Come on," he prompted as he rose to his feet. "I have to attend to the dog's injuries. I'm only glad I picked a few of those honey flowers when we were at Ostagar. It might just save his life."


	17. The Noble Pirate

A dark skinned woman with large breasts spilling over the top of an ivory corset approached a man sitting in the corner of the _Jade Delight_ 's tavern area. She walked behind him and ran her hands down the front of his unlaced, black linen shirt before bending to nip at his lobe. She scraped her nails through the dark patch of hair on his chest and moved them to his black leather covered shoulders. She peered down at the crotch of his tight pants made of the same material and frowned.

"Nothing?" she pouted in a thick Antivan accent. "Not even a twitch of that big sword?"

Her hand began to slide down further, toward the object of her desire. When her fingers reached the wide black leather belt at the man's waist, he took her hand and placed a delicate kiss upon her knuckles.

"Not tonight, love" he told her.

She moved her head to the other side of his before tucking the loosened wisps of his long ebony hair behind his ear. "I promise," she whispered. "You'll have the time of your life. I can assure you, I am not your garden variety whore."

The man cupped her chin with tanned, calloused fingers and turned his gaze to meet hers. His aquamarine eyes stared into her deep brown ones for a long moment before his lips turned up in a crooked smirk.

"Of that, love, I have no doubt."

He planted a soft kiss upon her full lips, lightly brushing her skin with the dark scruff of his three day old beard before gently pushing her away. "I am certain your charms could steal the most resolute sailor from the sea, but, alas, I find myself previously engaged this afternoon. Perhaps later?"

The woman's hand grazed across his strong jaw to his chin. "I look forward to it," she cooed with a wanton grin.

"As do I, love" he told her as he turned his lips to her palm, allowing them to linger for a moment, then released her hand to return to his ale. He had no intention of actually utilizing the young lady's services, but he saw no harm in a bit of flirting. If he wanted sex, he could find someone willing without needing to pay for the pleasure.

Captain Garrett Hawke had always held that stance. Not once in his twenty eight years had he spent a single copper on the company of a woman outside of buying drinks or the odd token of affection. The only reason he ever entered a brothel was to maintain a certain reputation expected from a man of his position. His usual habit was to give the local madam enough coin to buy both a private room for an evening or two and her silence. Although there were times he would throw in an extra sovereign to ensure false rumors of his sexual prowess and escapades were spread among the clientele.

In truth, Garrett was a horrible pirate. He never took a life without good cause, and he never ordered an attack on a ship unless it fired at him first. Although the cargo he moved was usually of a less than legal nature, he didn't think that made him a bad person. He supposed he was more of a smuggler and thief than anything, but no one else saw him that way. He even considered going legitimate a few times, but he never had any patience for the red tape that was involved in such an endeavor. Besides, some people practically begged to be relieved of their possessions.

He peered around the room and smiled to himself. After nearly four months at sea, he was finally home…at least the closest thing to a home away from the ship he ever knew. Growing up, Highever was always the one place which he longed to return. Bryce and Eleanor Cousland had become surrogate parents of sorts. Their son, Fergus, who was only a few months younger than Garrett was a brother, and their daughter, Jenna, a kid sister.

From the age of four, when his adopted father, Marko, would deliver cargo in the southwestern ports of Thedas, the old captain would nearly always drop Garrett off at Castle Cousland along the way. Garrett never knew how or why a noble family would befriend a pirate captain. He always assumed it had something to do with the war against Orlais, but he never really cared to ask. He was simply glad it was true.

Eleanor Cousland was the reason Garrett respected women more than most pirates did. She was a tough disciplinarian who could wield a brush and a shoe better than most men could a sword. Whenever he and Fergus misbehaved, she would dole out whatever punishments she thought fit their crimes. Most of the boys' penance was paid through the sting of a heavy silver hairbrush across their asses or a bar of foul tasting soap shoved into their mouths. She was the closest thing to a mother he had.

Garrett never knew his birth mother. The only thing he did know about her was that she didn't even have the courtesy to take him as far as the local foundling's home when she abandoned him. She simply left him in a small open crate covered in blankets among some other cargo on the docks in the small fishing village of Deriav in Rivain. After the cargo was loaded and Yavana's Call had set sail, the ship's cook heard the crying of a babe coming from the galley's larder. The only thing found on the child was a soiled nappy and a small slip of paper bearing the carefully scrawled words, Garrett Malcolm Hawke.

Captain Marko took the child to his cabin and watched over him. Marko's intention was to leave the baby with the orphanage at the next port of call, but at some point in the week long journey, he came to care for the small boy. Although the old captain never married, he had always regretted never having a son to carry on his legacy. He made the decision that, even though Garrett was not of his own flesh and blood, he would raise the boy as his own.

Marko was a decent and honorable man in his own right and taught his adopted son a great deal, but he was still a pirate who lived by a pirate's code. He robbed, plundered and even murdered when he felt the situation called for it. For that reason, Garrett attributed most of his sense of fairness and honor and his respect for the sanctity of life to Bryce Cousland. In his dealings with the inhabitants of the Teyrnir, the Teyrn always treated everyone, elf, dwarf, and human alike, with impartiality. In passing judgement on criminals, he was very careful to fit the punishment to the crime and always made execution a last resort and only for the most severe transgressions.

The Couslands were good people who treated Garrett as one of their own and welcomed him with open arms like a long lost son upon his return, no matter how long he had been away. The happiest times of his youth were spent at Castle Cousland, and he could never be grateful enough to the family for showing a young pirate such kindness and love. Even after taking over as captain of Yavana's Call upon Marko's retirement, Garrett made it a point to make port in the coastal Ferelden city as often as he could.

Upon his arrival, Bryce and Eleanor would always greet him at the entrance of the keep with a warm embrace, and a hot meal would be waiting in the dining hall. For the remainder of the evening, the Teyrn and Teyrna, along with Fergus and his wife Oriana, would lounge around the fireplace in the keep's private sitting room with Garrett until the wee hours of the morning. Then, when the others would retire, the captain would head back to his room at the brothel and shove off sometime in the early afternoon.

At the moment, Garrett was eagerly awaiting the arrival of his first mate, Martinez, to give him the shipwright's estimate of the timeframe and cost of the minor repairs the ship needed. As soon as that business was concluded, the captain planned to head to the keep to spend a pleasant evening with his family. He couldn't wait to hear the latest news and gossip around Highever.

The captain drained his mug and lifted a jeweled finger to call for another. When the barmaid brought his drink a few minutes later, she seemed distraught as she set it down on the table in front of him. The left corner of Garrett's lips curved into a flirtatious smirk and he gave her a wink in hopes to cheer her.

"Thank you, love."

Her head dipped in a nod and she brandished a tight-lipped smile that didn't reach her glistening green eyes before scurrying back to the bar. It was an odd exchange. The kind Garrett rarely experienced. While he knew he certainly wasn't the most handsome man in Thedas, he could typically count on his natural charm to put people, especially women, at ease.

His brow furrowed as his green-blue eyes scanned his surroundings. For the first time since he arrived, Garrett was aware of the forlorn expressions on the faces of the other denizens and the somber air in the room. His gut lurched with a gnawing pang. Something was definitely wrong.

The pirate leaned forward and rested the weight of his upper body on his forearms as his ringed index finger traced the handle of his mug. His lids narrowed as his ears tried to discern the words of a man in the corner who was speaking softly to one of the prostitutes. He only made out one. Blight.

Garrett nearly jumped from his seat when he heard his first mate's voice from behind. "Captain, I just came from the shipwright's."

The pirate sat upright and folded his arms over his chest as Martinez came around to his captain's right side. There was worry in the tall man's crystal blue eyes.

"And what is your report, Mister Martinez? Bad news, I take it."

"Well, sir," the other man hesitated. "The repairs to the ship should be finished by day's end and the estimate was less than you what you planned for."

"And?"

"The harbormaster would like to speak with you personally, captain. He says it's a matter of utmost importance."

Garrett waggled his head. "He'll be wanting more coin, I expect. I swear the harbormasters are worse than any pirate that ever came out of Rivain."

He expected his jest to earn him a smirk at the very least, but Martinez didn't crack even a hint of a smile. He just stood there, staring down at Garrett, his brow creased with a pained expression. Garrett had known Martinez over half his life, since he was nine, and the man was always forthright. Whatever was bothering him, it was bad.

The captain covered his mouth with his jeweled hand and exhaled a long, perturbed breath, bracing himself for the inevitable. "Just spit it out, mate."

The lines in Martinez's face deepened. "It's about the Cousland family."

* * *

When Martinez told him what had transpired, Garrett could scarcely believe it. Although he never liked Howe, he never thought the man capable of such an atrocity, especially given the fact that he and Bryce Cousland were supposedly best friends. How could he do such a thing? Why?

Upon receiving the news about the Couslands and the Blight that loomed over the land of Ferelden, Garrett had every intention to shove off as soon as the repairs to his ship were completed. After Martinez left him, he ordered two bottles of rum and retired to his room until his first mate returned to tell him the Call was set to leave port. Those plans quickly changed.

When he reached the hired bedchamber, Garrett immediately uncorked one of the bottles in his hand and guzzled half its contents. He fell back onto the bed and allowed the tears that had begun to sting his eyes while sitting at the downstairs table to flow freely down his tanned cheeks. As he lay there, his grief and despair quickly turned to enmity and indignation, and the incessant giggles and moans coming from the surrounding rooms only fueled his outrage. When he looked down to find his hand clenching the grip of one of his cutlasses, he realized he had to leave before he took his ire out on some unsuspecting fool who was just there for a simple romp.

Instead of finding an inn to hole up in until his ship was ready, Garrett made his way to Castle Cousland where he waited outside until well after nightfall. He knew he should just leave, that he really didn't want to bear witness to the devastation inside, but he couldn't help himself. He had to see, had to measure the full scope of Howe's crimes.

The peal of the nearby Chantry's bells ringing in the eleventh hour finally prompted Garrett to find the hidden trap door that dropped into an underground tunnel which led to the keep's kitchen. It was a passage known only to the family. A secret passed from generation to generation since the castle's construction, crafted specifically for escape in such a circumstances.

When he reached the door leading into the larder, the rogue used his set of lockpicks in the keyhole to manipulate its tumblers. As usual, he kept count in his head how many seconds the endeavor would take. _One, two, three, four…five._ The hint of a smile crossed his lips when he heard the familiar click that promulgated his success. He pushed the door to open it, but was immediately met with resistance.

 _That's odd._

Garrett was perturbed. He knew the only thing ever on the other side of that door was a set of empty shelves that moved with it to cover its existence. He tried again, a bit more forceful in his endeavor, but only managed a small crack. Whatever was blocking his entry was heavy. The stench of rancid meat that wafted out turned his stomach. Something had most certainly spoiled inside that storeroom.

The captain took a deep breath, which prompted him to begin choking and retching from the smell. He gulped back the bile in his throat and held his breath, fighting his gag reflex, then took a step back. Leading with his right shoulder, he put the entire hundred ninety pounds of his six foot three frame into shoving the door open the remainder of the way. Whatever was blocking it finally gave way enough for him to fit through the gap his efforts made.

As he slipped inside, Garrett became aware of his foot sliding through some sort of black, malodorous goo. His face contorted with disgust at the foul substance covering the toe of his boot. On closer inspection, he realized it was blood. Old blood, spilled many days prior.

The pirate's heart began to pound so hard he thought his ribs might crack from the pressure. His respirations came in short, quick gasps. He squeezed his eyes shut against the tears that threatened to flow for the second time in a day.

 _Spirits,_ he prayed. _Please don't let it be..._

He opened his eyes to catch sight of silver hair fashioned into two large, winding braids at the nape of a woman's neck. He immediately recognized the dressing gown she wore, violet velvet with pale pink roses made of silk along the hemlines. There was no doubt. It was Eleanor.

He hurried the rest of the way through and rushed to her body. The same dark sticky blood made a pool around her form. He gasped when he rolled her onto her back and found the ivory shift she wore ripped completely down the front to reveal her nudity. Thick, dried streaks of dark crimson trailed from her nose and mouth down both sides of her face, and lighter red undertones could be seen within the black coagulation over the wide slit in her throat.

All that coupled with the expression of terror in her face and clouded, dead eyes was more than Garrett could bear. He fell back onto his haunches, covered his face with his hands, and began to sob like an infant. The horror of what happened to the woman he considered his mother was too much.

After several minutes, he finally wiped his eyes with the tips of his fingers to observe the rest of the room. He found Bryce's body crumpled against the door, riddled with stab wounds in his chest and abdomen. The pirate could no longer hold back the wave of vomit he had been striving to keep down. He rolled over onto his hands and knees and released the contents of his stomach onto the blood-spattered and stained stone floor below him.

When his belly had finally been emptied and his gut ached with the effort of the force of his heaving, Garrett rocked back on his heels and swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. His eyes continued scanning the room. The only other bodies present were those of two dead soldiers. The insignia on their shoulders, a brown great bear on a shield of yellow and white, told Garrett everything he needed to know. They were definitely Arl Rendon Howe's men.

 _But where's Jenna…and Oriana and Oren?_

Hope crept into the captain's crippled heart, but quickly died away. The door to the tunnels had been locked. No one else had gone that way.

 _Maybe they're still in the castle somewhere, hiding._

He knew it was wishful thinking on his part, but if there was even a chance he had to try to find them. As he picked himself up from the floor, Garrett pulled the flint and steel kit from the pouch at his belt, but quickly returned it. He didn't want to leave Bryce and Eleanor like that, but burning bodies would certainly bring unwanted attention.

Blinking back more tears, he did the only thing he could for either of them at that moment. He stooped down next to Eleanor and fastened her favorite dressing gown from the top button to the bottom to cover her exposed body. Once that was done, he bent forward and kissed her forehead.

"I'll be back soon," he whispered. "I won't leave you like this. I swear it."

The Chantry bells announced the witching hour when Garrett finally emerged from the kitchen. He moved down the path toward the one that would lead him to the family's private wing. The keep was relatively quiet save the echo of armored footfalls upon stone of the guards on patrol.

The pirate skirted around the corner to the main passageway and spied two soldiers approaching. He ducked into a darkened alcove and pressed his body to the wall until they passed. He knew they would never detect him, no matter how close they came. The rogue had spent a great deal of his adult life cloaked in shadow and shade. What better way was there to rob a man without the threat violence or bloodshed?

As the soldiers passed, Garrett inhaled a slow, deep breath to calm his anger which was greeted by the stench of old copper and rotting flesh carried on the late winter wind. A recollection of the gruesome scene he just left became clear in his mind. He tried to tell himself it wasn't the fault of these men that his family was dead. They were just following orders, but the trembling right hand clutching the ebony grip of his favorite dagger wanted to taste their blood all the same.

The picture of Eleanor in his mind and the thought that it could have been one of those guards who tortured and raped her drove Garrett to abandon mercy. He crept out of the darkness and slit the throats of both men before they realized they were being ambushed. After wiping his blade on the larger guard's tunic, he quickly and quietly pulled them into his hiding place, one after the next.

Once he was satisfied that the bodies were well hidden, Garrett made his way to the family wing and slipped through the door. The smell was even worse there than it had been in the larder. The first place he checked was Jenna's room. On the floor lay a young blonde man the captain couldn't identify. He was naked with an arrow protruding from his forehead. The expression on his face and the location of the body told the pirate the dead man had been taken by surprise upon opening the door.

On the other side of Jenna's bed, he found one of Howe's soldiers. The man's nose had obviously been broken and his neck had been sliced open from one end to the other. Garrett recognized his adopted sister, Jenna's handiwork right away.

 _Good job, love._

After thoroughly checking Jenna's room, the captain moved on to Bryce and Eleanor's bedchambers, stepping across the bodies of several of Howe's soldier along the way. There he found uniformed dead men in various stages of undress. He shuddered at the idea of what had taken place there.

Upon closer examination of the bodies, he was sure Jenna had been the one to take their lives. Sorrow washed over him like the tides of the sea. If Jenna had killed these men, that meant she should have been with Eleanor. The fact that she wasn't told him all he needed to know. She was gone, either dead or captured, but she was gone just the same.

Garrett left the room to head to Fergus's, but stopped when he reached for the handle. Fergus wasn't in there. He had led the Teyrn's army to Ostagar to fight the darkspawn earlier on the day of the attack. He placed the flat of his hand on the worn wooden surface of the door and bowed his head. He just couldn't. He already knew what awaited him inside that room, and he didn't want to see it. He heaved a sigh before pushing himself away and turned for the door leading back to the keep proper.

The rest of Howe's men were fortunate that evening that they didn't cross Garrett's path on his way back to the kitchen. When he left the private wing, it was his intention to kill every man he saw, but he found the paths empty.

Once back in the larder, he moved Bryce and Eleanor's bodies closer together, then used flint and steel to light them. He watched with glistening eyes as the flames began to consume two of the most important people in his world, two people who had guided and loved him most of his life. It wasn't until he heard a warning alarm sound from outside, that the pirate slipped out the door leading back into the secret passageway.

As he made his way out, Garrett failed to notice the torches on the walls light as he passed them. He only had one thing on his mind. Retribution. Howe was going to pay, and he was going to do so with his life, if it was the last thing he ever did.


	18. The Caged Qunari

Garrett was unsure how he even got near the docks that evening. The moment he was clear of the secret passage that led into the castle, he removed the silver flask from his belt and downed its entire contents in a few, short gulps. Covered in blackened blood and smelling of fresh smoke and rancid meat, the pirate captain began to make his way back to his ship.

Along the path, he passed the northern market district and spied a spirits shop out of the corner of his eye. After ensuring no city guards were lurking about, he removed the lockpick set from his belt and slid it into the keyhole.

 _One, two…three._

The tumblers gave way, and after another quick glance around, he slipped inside the door. In less than five minutes, the pirate was in and back out on the street with a bottle of Rivaini rum in each hand.

 _Should have invested in better locks, mate,_ he observed before taking a healthy swig from the container in his right hand and walking away.

By the time he reached the businesses that lined the harbor, Garrett had already finished and tossed one bottle and was halfway through his second. Between the alcohol and his sorrow and rage, he was finding it more and more difficult to see where he was going, let alone walk. In those wee hours of the morning, he had enough of his wits left about him to realize he needed to find a place to stay for the evening. It would certainly do no good for any of his crew to witness their captain in such a vulnerable and pitiable state.

As he staggered down the street toward the pier, Garrett felt a familiar rumbling in his gut as it began to spasm. With only a second's warning, he braced the wooden slat of a wall to his right and began to spew the rum he had consumed onto the cobblestone around his boots. When the waves of vomit eventually subsided, he uncorked his remaining bottle and replaced some of the alcohol he just lost.

The drunken pirate peered up at the sign a few feet from his head and managed to make out the words, _The Lucky Seagull Inn._ He felt along the wall until he located the handle of the door that would lead him inside. After jerking on the lever a few times and finding resistance, Garrett began to pound on the heavy wooden surface until he heard the latch being opened.

As he waited, the captain propped the bulk of his weight on the jamb with his hands and rested his forehead on the wooden slab. When the door finally opened, Garrett almost toppled over onto a portly little man with a shiny bald head and a murderous glare.

"What in the bloody void do you want at this Maker-forsaken hour?" the man hollered. "Do you have any bloody idea what time it is?"

Garrett presented him with a besotted smirk. "I find myself in need of a room for the night, mate."

The innkeeper grimaced. "Go to the _Hollow Horse,_ they're open all night and they specialize in catering to vagrants like you," he growled as he went to slam the door shut.

Before the wood hit the jamb, Garrett interrupted its progress with his foot and slammed his left fist, still wrapped around the neck of a rum bottle, into the center of the slab. He shoved at it, knocking the proprietor back a step. The smaller man trembled under the weight of the pirate's glare and the sight of the fingers of his free hand reaching into his black leather duster to grip the ebony hilt of the cutlass at his left hip

"Perhaps you didn't hear me, mate," Garrett slurred. "I have had a _really_ bad night. The only things I require are a hot bath, a bed, three bottles of rum sent to my room, and guarantee of your silence. You will be paid well for the trouble, I assure you. Or," He cleared the curved sword from its scabbard allowing the small man to get a glimpse of the steel. "We can do this the hard way. Your choice, mate."

The innkeeper retreated further into the room, pulling the door with him and Garrett stumbled in. The pirate straightened his shoulders as he teetered back and forth between the balls and heels of his feet. He took a deep breath, blinked his eyes against the light several times, and smacked his lips. His face screwed up in a sour expression. The mixture of vomit and rum tasted like someone shite in his mouth.

While the little man scurried off to retrieve the key to the captain's room and arrange for his wife to draw a bath, Garrett fished a few coins from the pouch at his belt. His hazy vision made it hard to tell which were gold and which were copper. Squinting his eyes, he held the coins up to the light to discern the difference in color. He chose three coins he was sure were sovereigns, at least he hoped were sovereigns, and laid them out on the bar.

When the proprietor returned, he handed Garrett the key and relinquished a satisfied nod upon seeing the coin the pirate left for him. "Room's upstairs," he said. "Third door on the right. I'll send the bottles up in few minutes."

The pirate swayed a bit then finished the bottle in his hand before hurling it at the wall behind him. "I'll take one of those now, mate."

"O…of course," the man stammered nervously. "Right away, ser."

The innkeeper scampered around the bar and retrieved his best bottle of Rivaini rum. When he returned to the pirate's side, Garrett snatched it from his hand, popped the cork with his thumb and took a swig. He gave the man a wink and clicked his teeth.

"Thanks, mate," he said before lumbering for the door headed upstairs.

Once in his room, Garrett stripped off his stench-ridden clothes, and flopped face first onto the bed, his hand still clutching the bottle. Sometime later, there was a knock at the door. He wasn't sure how long he had been lying there, since he was fairly certain he blacked out for a while, but the entire bottle of rum had spilled onto the floor.

 _Damn._

"Come in," he croaked as he rolled over onto his back and slid his hand down his face.

A large woman dressed in a brown bathrobe with silver hair in long pigtails hanging down her shoulders entered the room and let out a startled cry. Garrett propped himself up on his forearms and arched his right brow.

"Don't drop the bottles, love," he told her. "I've already ruined one. No need for its brothers to join it."

The innkeeper's wife's face glowed bright red as her eyes moved from the wall to the captain's ample endowments and back to the wall again. "I…I apologize, my lord," she stammered before scurrying to the small table in the corner and setting the containers down on its surface. "Your bath is ready. Last room on the left."

"Thank you, love," Garrett smirked and presented her with a saucy wink as she turned and caught sight of him again.

She gasped and her skin turned a darker shade of crimson before bestowing a quick curtsy and scrambling for the door. The pirate dropped back onto the lumpy mattress and chuckled to himself. Some people were simply too prudish for their own good. He closed his lids only to be assailed by the image of Eleanor's dead eyes staring up at him. His head was starting to clear and the memories of his family's tragic demise were beginning to return in a rush.

 _That will never do._

With a great deal of effort, Garrett rolled off the bed and grabbed one of the bottles on the table. He gulped down nearly half its contents, seized the second container and one of his daggers then made his way to the bathing room. He didn't care who might emerge from their room and find him wandering naked down the hall. He didn't care about anything. For the rest of that night, at least, he just wanted to be numb, to feel nothing.

* * *

Gabrielle awoke suddenly in a cold sweat, her long, ivory, linen shirt sticking to her body. Ever since some of the local soldiers began returning from Ostagar, she had been having dreams about the darkspawn attacking her small village. Every night, the dreams seemed more real and more ominous than the night before.

 _It's just a nightmare, Gabrielle. Nothing to get your knickers in a twist over._

She lay there for a few minutes, allowing her aquamarine eyes time to adjust to the morning light streaming through the nearby window. As usual, she was exhausted and loathing the idea of getting out of bed. She turned her head to glance at the small clock sitting on the nightstand and rolled her eyes.

 _Time to go to work._

It seemed that was all Gabrielle ever did. At least when Raeanne was still around, she was afforded an occasional hiatus from the monotony that was her life. It had only been a few days since Raeanne and Emma left for Highever, but the apostate already missed them terribly.

Gabrielle moved slowly across the room to get ready for her day. She knew Danal wouldn't fire her for being late. He would grouse about it, of course, and the later she was for work the longer he went on, but it wasn't as if she listened to him anyway.

She slipped the tavern wench's dress that was her uniform over her head and pulled the hem down over a pair of thick wool leggings with holes throughout their length. She didn't care. It wasn't as if anyone would see them anyway, and she refused to wear that ridiculous thing without pants of some sort underneath. She tied her thick, dark brown curls into a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck then splashed cold water from the basin onto her face. She took a quick glance in the mirror, and glowered at her reflection.

 _Oh, who gives a shit? It isn't as if you'd turn any heads anyway._

The apostate took her time walking to _Dane's Refuge._ She wasn't in any hurry to be accosted by drunks and griped at by diners pissing and moaning about their soup being cold. Perhaps, if she were lucky, Danal would be so upset by her tardiness that he would send her to the kitchen to scrub pots for the day. When she arrived at the inn, Danal was waiting outside for her with crossed arms and a disapproving scowl.

"Late again, I see," he grumped. "I should dock your pay for this. Or maybe I should find another girl who would actually be on time for work."

Gabrielle rolled her eyes. "Good luck getting anyone to work for you with the wages you pay me."

"The only reason you don't make as much as the other girls is your bad attitude, Gabby."

She glowered at him. "You know I hate it when you call me that."

"Well, maybe if you did your job properly I might be more inclined to heed your wishes about your name."

"So I take it I'm to be reduced to scrubbing pots in the kitchen for my transgressions?" she questioned, hoping he was angry enough to answer with a yes.

The older man shook his head. "Not today. The place is already full to bursting and we've just opened for breakfast. I need all the serving girls I can get. It seems there's no end to the refugees showing up in Lothering these days."

She gave a nonchalant shrug. "Well, at least I might be able to earn some tips today."

"I wouldn't count on it. I mean, just look at you. Wrinkled dress, hair tied back like some boy and no make-up. I'll wager you just rolled out of bed not more than twenty minutes ago. Maybe if you took a little pride in your appearance every once in a while you'd earn more coin."

"Yes, mother," she scoffed. "Why don't you just let me get to work and I'll worry about my appearance."

Gabrielle skirted past her employer and through the back door of the inn before he had the chance to reprimand her further. She didn't care to hear any more about how much prettier the other waitresses were than herself. She had more important things to worry about. At the young age of twenty-three, she was the sole provider for her family, working two to three jobs just to pay the landlord and keep enough bread on the table to feed four people. Ever since Arl Bryland enacted the law about poaching on his lands, she couldn't even hunt for meat to keep them all fed. To make matters worse, with everyone terrified of an impending Blight, the cost of everything had increased to astronomical proportions.

Danal hadn't been exaggerating when he said the inn was full. Not only were all the rooms upstairs occupied, but there wasn't an empty seat to be found in the tavern area. There were even people standing along the wall near the door with mugs in hand. Gabrielle got to work right away serving drinks and food to those who had the coin to pay for it.

As she filled another mug with ale from the tap, the apostate stared at the faces of the patrons in the room. The same old tired faces with the same grim expressions. Even among the refugees, the people she had never seen before in her life, it was always more of the same. No one interesting ever came to Lothering. It was the most boring village in all of Thedas. She was sure even the darkspawn would find it too dull to invade, but it was home, and that's all that really mattered.

So many years of her life, Gabrielle spent wishing, hoping to be something more, but she had responsibilities. Even before Malcolm's passing, she was always the one put in charge of the household when her father was away, but after he died, she knew those dreams couldn't come true. Her mother, Bethany, and even Carver were her life and it was foolish to think about chasing fantasies that would never come to fruition. Every dream she had died the day Malcolm did.

An old man who had one drink too many attempted to grab Gabrielle's bottom as she walked past to serve the ale she just poured, but he only managed to catch the pleats of her skirt. He let go then turned to his companion who was sitting next to him. "So desperate for help they put a boy in a skirt" he complained. "Shameful."

The apostate's cheeks flushed with embarrassment as the customer's friend let out a raucous laugh. "Didn't know ya got into that sorta thing, Dolan," he guffawed.

It hurt Gabrielle's feelings, of course, but it wasn't anything she wasn't accustomed to already. Even if she were free to pursue a relationship, and even if she wasn't an apostate, no man would find interest in her. She sighed.

 _No knight in shining armor for you, Gabrielle._

* * *

As they crossed the drawbridge into Lothering, Alistair stopped close to the end, leaned on the rail and studied the landscape. Beyond the wooden ramp ahead and to the right, tents of varying sizes and colors as well as makeshift lean-tos were set up all along the river's edge. It appeared to be a refugee camp for those from the smaller southern villages attempting to escape the horde. Ferelden's people, his people, were suffering.

 _Stop thinking like that, jackass. You aren't a king. Just a Grey Warden._

He sighed before turning his attention to the two women who were standing over the body of a templar, debating over whether they should check the contents of the dead man's pockets. Just as he returned his attention to the landscape, he felt something nudge his right arm. He turned and smiled at the hound trying to garner his attention then began scratching it behind the ears.

Harley still looked like he was only a few steps from death with large gashes riddling his body, but at least his fur was no longer matted and he seemed in better spirits. Between the honey flower boiled into his water and the poultice of elfroot, feverfew, and lemongrass Alistair applied to his skin, Harley was well on the road to a full recovery.

"Hey, boy," he greeted.

The dog leaned his head into his master's hand and panted. It had been a very long time since Alistair had taken care of a mabari. Although he never had one of his own, Master Dennet sometimes allowed him to care for his hound, Jodee. In a way, that dog was the only true friend the stable boy ever had. Unfortunately, when the old stablemaster, Kenton, contracted the taint from his horse and died, Jodee wasn't too far behind. Alistair loved that hound, and, after mourning its passing for a good long while, he swore he would never allow himself to feel as close to an animal again.

Harley flipped over onto his back and kicked his hind legs to let his master know he wanted his belly scratched. The warrior crouched down and complied with the mabari's request. Even after the vow he made when he was ten, he had to admit that the hound was beginning to grow on him. In a lot of ways, Harley reminded him of Jodee.

Alistair always wondered if Master Dennet didn't allow the boy to care for Jodee to make up for some of the abuses the child suffered under the hands of Kenton. Where Kenton was cruel and unreasonable, Dennet was gruff but kind and even taught Alistair to ride a horse when he was seven. It may have been callous of the boy not to grieve the death of the man who practically raised him his entire life, but he was much happier when Dennet took over as stablemaster upon Kenton's demise.

While petting Harley brought back some bittersweet memories, it did give Alistair an idea. He wasn't sure if Eamon would even agree to it, but the arl hadn't yet sent any of his troops to Ostagar before that final, tragic battle. Perhaps he would be willing to lend Redcliffe's army to aid the Wardens in their fight against the darkspawn. If he did, it would certainly afford them a better chance of success.

"If you are quite finished playing with that disgusting mutt, we still have work to do," Morrigan chided from Alistair's left side.

Harley rolled over and growled at the witch as the warrior stood at his full height. Alistair was fed up with Morrigan's constant snide comments and the ways she was forever berating him. There were a lot of similarities between the witch and Solona, but there was another side to Solona. She was frequently funny and possessed her own brand of kindness and caring. Though she often attempted to disguise them with apathy and arrogance, those admirable traits still existed. Morrigan, on the other hand, was just a bitch through and through, and he had no inclination to be nice to her, whatsoever.

"I'm sorry," he retorted in a snarky tone. "I was just passing the time while you were playing with the dead body."

"I can see the appeal for you, Alistair," she quipped. "Considering you and the dog are so alike in both level of intelligence and smell."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "Actually, Morrigan, mabari are _highly_ intelligent animals, but you would know that if you crawled out of your cave every now and again."

"Yes," she responded with a haughty tone. "I suppose I owe the hound an apology equating it to your low level of intellect."

"Enough," Solona interjected as she rubbed her temples with the tips of her middle fingers. "The two of you have been at it all day. Can we please stop arguing long enough to actually formulate a plan? Or is it your intention for us to stand here fighting like children until the darkspawn overtake us?"

"I have some thoughts on that, actually," Alistair said, which earned an amused chuckle from Morrigan. He shot a glare at the witch before continuing. "Arl Eamon's troops were delayed and were never sent to Ostagar. Maybe we should go to him for aid first. Redcliffe is certainly closer than any of the groups named in those treaties. If we had the arl's soldiers, it might make for a more compelling argument if we meet with resistance from the dwarves, mages, or elves."

Solona's brow creased. "It's odd that you mention Redcliffe," she observed. "We found a note on that templar. His name was Ser Henric and he was stationed in Redcliffe. It seems he was supposed to meet someone named Ser Donall here in Lothering and give him a report on the scholar Genetivi's whereabouts."

"I know Donall," Alistair told her. "He was a squire for Ser Wynton when I was a boy. He used to come to the stables often to retrieve his master's horse."

"'Tis little wonder your stench is so powerful," Morrigan scoffed. "Being raised among horses and dogs."

"Then perhaps you can speak to him," Solona suggested, ignoring the witch's jape. "The note said Henric was looking for the Urn of Sacred Ashes. It made no mention as to why, but it seemed imperative it be found."

"Then the first thing we should do is find Donall," Alistair agreed. "But with the amount of refugees on the outskirts of the village, where do we start looking among so many people? The Chantry, perhaps?"

"If you feel it necessary," Morrigan huffed. "But you shall not find me darkening the doorstep of any such place."

"Afraid you'll catch on fire before you get a foot in the door?" Alistair quipped.

"I think," Solona interrupted. "The best place to start would be the local tavern. Even if this Donall isn't there, drunken men often have loose tongues and are willing to part with information more easily, especially when asked by an attractive woman."

Alistair cocked a brow at her statement. The mage certainly didn't lack in confidence in the looks department. Of course, she had no reason to, either. She was also shrewd enough to use her beauty as a means to an end. It was definitely an advantage.

"Agreed," the witch concurred with a terse nod.

"If you think it's for the best," the warrior consented. "I'm following you, remember?"

"Of course," Morrigan said with a roll of her eyes. "The spineless and brainless often follow the lead of others, even when they are more experienced."

"You're like what? Thirty?" Alistair asked with a bemused expression. "If I'm spineless and brainless, what in the bloody fuck does that make you?"

* * *

Sick of listening to Alistair and Morrigan's bickering, Solona headed toward the ramp leading off the bridge without them. As she walked past the refugee camp, she found herself in awe of the amount of people crammed into that tiny little village. The streets were full of transients trying to trade their meager possessions for coin enough to aid them in their procession north to escape Ferelden and the Blight's path. Despair and fear hung in the air like a heavy cloud over the small hamlet.

As the Wardens and the witch made their way to the tavern on the other side of Lothering, something caught Solona's eye. Just on the other side of the archway leading out of the village was a prison cage. Cramped inside was a very large man with stark white hair fashioned in small braids and pulled together in a thick ponytail at the back of his head. While Morrigan and Alistair continued toward the door to the inn, Solona wandered past the tavern to garner a closer look at the prisoner.

When she reached the cage, she looked up into the piercing violet eyes of the largest man she had ever seen. He was at least six inches taller than Sithig had been with shimmering skin of rich bronze and wearing nothing but a pair of dirty smallclothes. As he glowered down at her, she recognized his race from history books she had read while in the Circle.

"You are Qunari, then?" she asked with arms folded across her chest.

"I suppose your next question will have something to do with my lack of horns," he scoffed. "Be gone, human. I will not dance for you today."

Alistair and Morrigan took their places at the mage's side. Her fellow Warden gave a low whistle on observing the prisoner which prompted Solona to plant a sharp elbow to his ribs. He grimaced and rubbed his hand across his side, but kept his wits enough to remain silent.

"As amusing as that might be," she retorted. "I do not wish for you to entertain me. I am simply curious as to why one such as yourself is being held prisoner here. You are a long way from Par Vollen, after all."

"You know of my people," he said, his countenance softening a bit. "The armor you wear tells me you are no priest or refugee. The blue and grey are known, even among my people. You are a Grey Warden, then. Or did you take the uniform of dead men in the south?"

"I am a Warden," she replied, then indicated to Alistair with a tilt of her head. "As is my friend. And you still haven't answered my question. Why are you in that cage, Qunari?"

He leaned back against the bars behind him and turned his head to look out over the countryside. "Though I respect the uniform you wear and what it represents, I am not inclined to answer your questions any more than I was when your priestess asked me hers."

"And what if I secured your release?" the mage inquired. "Would you be willing to cooperate then?"

He returned his attention to her. "And what do you require of me in exchange?"

"We need help," she confessed. "So far, it is only the three of us and the dog standing against the Blight. Someone such as yourself could make a powerful ally."

"And how do you know you can trust me, human?" he asked. "Most of your people fear my race, though they know very little about us."

"I don't," she admitted. "And I doubt you trust me. I also doubt you want to be trapped in that cage when the darkspawn come. I _will_ secure your release. However, if you attempt to betray me or my companions, you will die."

"Vashedan," he cursed. "You are overconfident, Bas."

Solona cocked a brow. "No, I'm not. I have little doubt you might kill one of us if you were so inclined, but you will not be able to take all of us so easily. I know your people are susceptible to magic, and with two mages among us, we will not be easy targets."

"You are Bas Saarebas?" he questioned with a disdainful scowl.

"I am," she replied. "But I am also your best chance of getting out of this alive. Dying in a cage before you finish whatever mission you were sent here on will bring you no honor. Joining us will give you the chance to regain your dignity and return home to your people without shame."

"And you will allow me to leave when the Blight is ended?" he queried. "Just like that?"

"Just like that," she answered.

The Qunari gripped the bars of his cage, contemplating the mage's words. After a few minutes, he finally peered at her through narrowed lids. "Very well, Bas," he conceded. "Secure my release, and I will follow you."

"Good," she said. "Now, tell me, Qunari, who holds the key to your cage?"

"The Chantry priestess," he replied. "But she will not easily part with it."

"Let me worry about that," Solona told him. "I can be very persuasive when I need to be."

"Then I shall await your return," he said as he took a step back toward the rear of his prison, once again leaning on the bars.

Once they were out of the Qunari's earshot, Alistair turned to the mage with a questioning frown. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" he asked.

"He is a warrior," she replied. "Likely a member of the beresaad, which means he will be advantageous in battle, and as you pointed out, we need all the help we can get."


	19. The Nightingale

A loud knock on the door to his room woke Garrett from his drunken stupor as he lay with his head and feet hanging off the sides of the bed. The smell of old vomit wafting in his nose made him grimace. He opened an eye to find the source of the odor covering the wooden planks beneath him. His head was pounding like the void and his gut felt like someone had used it for a practice dummy.

 _Where the bloody fuck am I?_

It hurt too much to think. It even hurt too much to breathe. His mouth was as dry as the Western Approach in mid Solace and the taste was horrible enough to make him want to rip his tongue out.

Another knock echoed in his head like someone was beating a war drum inside his brain. He exhaled a long breath, prompting a series of dry heaves. At first he wondered if someone had poisoned him, but another examination of the floor declared that the only one who poisoned the pirate was himself. A half dozen empty rum bottles littered the floor around him, all empty of their amber contents.

 _Seriously, where the bloody fuck am I?_

Then it hit him like a ton of bricks. He was in Highever. His throat, raw from too much alcohol and vomit, constricted as he swallowed back the flood of tears burning his already red and puffy eyes. He rolled over onto his back and covered his face with his forearm as his body shook with his heart wrenching sobs.

Another rap at the door, turned his sorrow to fury. Whoever it was on the other side could go to the void. He didn't want to see or talk to anyone. His only desire was to be left alone with his misery. He wondered if Martinez was looking for him. Perhaps he had sent the crew out on a hunt through the city. That would go over well.

When the persistent knocking sounded again, the pirate lurched upright, put his feet to the floorboards, and staggered to the door in a rage. He jerked the door open ready to scream at whoever was on the other side. Standing before him was the innkeeper's wife, her eyes wide with terror. In one hand, she held a bowl with steam rising from the top. In the other, there was a full bottle of Rivaini rum. She held them out to him.

"I…I'm s…sorry to disturb you, m…my lord," she stammered. "But I thought you might be hungry."

The pirate's countenance softened. "Thank you," he told her with a despondent smile.

He felt like a complete ass. Although he was a pirate, Garrett always tried to make it a point to never put that look in an innocent person's eyes. He had done a lot of things since he docked in Highever that he wasn't proud of. Eleanor would have been ashamed of his behavior. It certainly didn't serve her or Bryce's memory well.

The old woman's grey eyes flitted back and forth between his face and his body. They held genuine concern, but she was also distracted. That's when Garrett realized he was still naked. After scanning the room for his clothes he remembered upon spotting them, they were still covered in blood and sick. He took a few steps backward and grabbed the sheet lying atop the bed before wrapping it around his waist.

"Are you alright, my lord?" the old woman asked, appearing both relieved and disappointed that he finally covered his nudity

He forced himself to present her with the most genuine smile he could muster. "I'll be fine, love," he told her. "No need to worry your pretty little head." Her cheeks blushed red at his words as she shuffled inside and placed the food and drink on the small table.

"And if you don't mind," he continued. "It's Hawke. Captain Hawke if you're feeling overly formal. I'm a pirate, love. Not some noble prat."

She grinned, but her bearing turned sour upon seeing the mess Garrett had made of the floor. He ran his hand through his ebony hair and donned a sheepish expression.

"Yeah, sorry about that, love," he apologized as he retrieved the coin pouch from his filthy belt.

He fished out two more gold sovereigns then placed them in the woman's hand. Upon closing her fist around the coins, the captain placed a gentle kiss on her rugose knuckles. She giggled like a young girl at the gesture.

"Thank you, my lor…Captain Hawke," she said with a shy grin.

"Believe me, love," he told her. "Seeing your lovely smile is well worth any amount of coin."

"You remind me of a character I read about in a book once," she swooned.

It took everything Garrett had to keep from rolling his eyes at her statement. He knew exactly which book she was referring to. The ridiculous thing had been haunting him for years.

 _Damned dwarf._

"If you could do me one more kindness, love," he requested in an effort to change the subject. "I was wondering if you could possibly deliver a note to the ship, _Yavana's Call._ "

"Anything you need, Captain," she agreed.

"Excellent," he said as he used the quill and parchment sitting on the desk under the window to scribble out a note. He folded the paper then lit the candle that lay next to the inkpot. After several moments, he poured a small amount of the candlewax onto the line of the document to seal it. After pressing the insignia of his index finger's ring into the cooling wax, he passed the note to the innkeeper's wife. "Make sure this gets to a man named Martinez. No one else."

"Of course," she said as she took the sealed parchment from his hand.

Garrett bent down and placed a kiss on the woman's withered cheek. "Thank you, love."

When he backed away, she rewarded him with a broad grin as she rubbed at the spot his lips had touched with her fingertips. She presented him with a small curtsy and another giggle and hurried from the room. Once she was gone, Garrett took a few bites of the stew. It wasn't bad, but Ferelden cooking had never exactly been his favorite. Besides, his stomach was still tender from his previous evening's overindulgences. The memory of the stew he and Fergus ruined when they were children by pouring an entire bag of salt into the pot crossed his mind. Nan had been furious, and Garrett and Fergus were compensated for the deed by the sting of Eleanor's silver brush across their asses.

As tears stung his eyes once again, the pirate's gaze caught on the bottle of rum sitting next to the bowl. He grabbed it and popped the cork with his thumb, sending it sailing to the floor a few feet ahead.

 _Ah well, what's another day?_

* * *

Against Morrigan's wishes, Solona made the decision to go to the Chantry to speak the revered mother first. She wasn't in any real hurry to get the Qunari out of the cage, but she determined it was better to just get the task out of the way. Besides, the large man looked as if he could use a decent meal as well. She only hoped the revered mother hadn't already disposed of his equipment. It would certainly be a daunting task to locate new clothes for someone of his stature, let alone armor.

The Wardens had just reached the small footbridge that would lead them to the south side of the village where the Chantry lay, when they were approached by a woman in initiate's robes. The woman appeared to be in her mid to late twenties with layered, chin-length hair of flaming red and large eyes the color of Crystal Grace petals. Laid across her arms was a bundle of what looked to be long cloaks of varying colors. She stepped in front of Solona, impeding the mage's progress, and presented her with an overly friendly smile.

"Hello," she greeted in an inordinately raised voice which carried a thick Orlesian accent. "I apologize for not greeting you when you arrived in the village, but with so many people here, I'm sure you understand."

There was something very odd about the woman that put Solona on edge from the moment she spotted her out of the corner of her eye. She stood out among the rest of the rabble roaming the dirt pathways that wound through the small burrow, and not just because of the rich red color of her hair. There was too much purpose in the way the woman walked, like someone who was readying to rush into a perilous mission. Her blue eyes shone with cleverness and bespoke of someone who was much more dangerous than she endeavored to appear. She was battle hardened, experienced in the knowledge of being on both sides of a blade. Solona had seen that look too many times over the subsequent weeks to be taken in by such a ruse. The redhead's innocent appearance was a disguise the woman wore well, but it was too transparent to fool someone who had just endured the things Solona had experienced.

"So you greet everyone who enters the village?" the mage asked.

The woman's smile broadened, but it did not reach her eyes. "I try," she replied. "Isn't it the duty of the Chantry to give aid and comfort to the poor and downtrodden? I'm sure you have noticed there is quite a lot of that here in Lothering, no?"

"This village does seem to have its fair share of misery," Solona agreed in a disinterested tone.

"I notice that you and your companions are without proper attire to brave the harsh Ferelden winter," the redhead observed. "I would like to offer you some cloaks to help protect you from the elements."

"My armor serves as protection enough," the mage proclaimed. "I'm sure there are others who need them more."

Against Solona's protests, the woman pushed the coverings into the mage's abdomen and then grabbed her wrist and pulled it beneath the cloaks. As she passed the clothes over onto Solona's forearm, she shoved what felt like a crumpled piece of parchment into Solona's hand. The redhead regarded the mage with an expression of warning for a quick moment before pasting on another smile.

"Please," she contended. "I insist. Everyone deserves comfort and shelter in these dark times."

"Well, if you insist, Sister," Solona relented with a small nod of comprehension.

The redhead leaned in close to plant a kiss on the Warden's cheek. "There is a small walkway behind the house to my left," she whispered before moving her lips to the other side. "Go into the door along the back wall and read the note there." She took a step back. "Maker watch over you and your companions," she offered with a bow of her head and a smile.

With that, the redhead strode away to speak to a couple standing nearby. Once she was gone, Solona's gaze turned to the building the woman spoke of. Next to it, she espied a small gap between the corner of the house and a fence, barely large enough for Harley to slip through.

The mage needed an excuse to approach the small hovel without garnering suspicion from anyone who may have been watching. She looked over at Alistair who was mindlessly scratching the hound behind the ears. Then it came to her.

"Alistair?" she questioned. "When's the last time that dog did its business?"

The warrior raised his brow with a questioning grimace. "A few hours ago…I guess. I haven't really paid that much attention. Why?"

"Don't you think it's probably time to take him somewhere so he can relieve himself?" she asked. "We can't very well allow him to just shit in the street, now can we?"

He glanced around him where there were already several piles made by horses and other animals in the road and surrounding grass. "Um…Solona," he hesitated. "I'm pretty sure it doesn't matter."

"Well, it matters to me," she insisted before pointing to the grassy area next to the fence. "Perhaps over there would be a good place."

Alistair shrugged with an expression of complete confusion. "Alright," he conceded. "If that's what you want."

He patted the side of his thigh to indicate to Harley that the dog should follow him then ambled over to the fence and through the gap between the rails and the house next to it. Solona and Morrigan followed close behind. Once they were out of site of the road, and had ensured no one was in the immediate vicinity to see them, Solona checked the handle of the door and found it unlocked. As she stepped inside, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"What in the Maker's name are you doing?" Alistair asked. "You can't just walk into somebody's house like that?"

"Just follow me," she hissed through gritted teeth. "And keep your voice down."

"What about Harley?" he queried in a whisper.

"Bring him inside," she ordered. "Quickly."

Once they were within the confines of the house, Solona bolted the door then took in her surroundings. The internal side of the hovel was just as weather worn as the outside, with thin spots in the thatching over their heads. There was no furniture other than one broken chair in the corner, no decorations on the warped wooden slat walls. The place had obviously been abandoned for some time, but it felt alive with memories. Not ominous or eerie recollections, but remembrances of happier times that turned to sorrow and longing upon its desertion.

The mage tossed the cloaks that were over her arm to Alistair and opened the note in her hand. After smoothing out the worst of the creases, she read the hurried scrawl marred by smudges from the author's haste to fold the parchment before the ink had time to dry.

 _You are in danger. Don the cloaks and go to the tavern. Leave the mabari in the house along with your staffs and large blades. There is food for the dog beneath the broken chair. Speak to no one along the way. I will be waiting at the table in the farthest corner. All will be explained there._

Solona studied the words for a long moment. She knew nothing about the woman who wrote them, other than she wasn't what she appeared to be and she was dangerous. A lifetime in the Circle had taught her to look past outer appearances and counterfeit smiles. It was a lesson she learned well at an early age. If she heeded the cryptic message, Solona could very well be leading them all into a trap. If it was a true warning that she chose to ignore, they could be in even more trouble.

"What is it?" Alistair inquired with concern in his hazel eyes. "What's going on?"

"It seems the _sister_ is trying to warn us," she told him as she passed the parchment over.

He scanned the page then turned his gaze to her. "It could be a trap," he warned.

Morrigan snatched the paper out of the warrior's fingers and skimmed through the words. "I can scarcely believe I am saying this," she said. "But for once, I agree with Alistair."

The warrior's eyes widened as he placed his hand over his chest. "I think my heart may have just stopped. Did you just say you agreed with me?"

The witch rolled her eyes. "You cannot possibly be any more shocked than I that something resembling intelligence actually came from that gaping maw of yours."

Solona glared at both of them in turn. "I swear to the fucking Maker, if the two of you don't stop, I'm going to put you in separate corners of this room where you will stand like naughty children until the darkspawn come." She blew at her bangs with an exasperated sigh. "Now, if you are quite ready to behave like the adults you claim to be…"

"To be fair," Alistair interrupted with an impish smirk. "I never claimed to be an adult."

"And well you shouldn't," Morrigan put in.

"Enough," Solona seethed with a threatening stare. "We will go to the inn and meet with this woman."

"But…" Alistair started to contest.

The mage held her index finger in the air to serve as a warning for him to be quiet. "No, since the two of you can't stop arguing long enough to give me sound advice, I will do what I think is best. Now put on the Maker fucking cloaks before I put them on for you."

Solona removed the sword from the scabbard at her back then snatched the brown cloak from the pile laying across Alistair's arm. She quickly threw it around her shoulders as she walked to the door. Mercifully, her two companions remained silent as they followed her lead. After pulling her hood up over her head, she turned to Alistair.

"Grab the food for Harley and put it out so he can eat," she ordered. "Then tell him to stay. When you are finished, meet us in the tavern. Be careful, and talk to no one." As she reached for the door, something else occurred to her. She and Morrigan didn't need weapons, but Alistair still did, and it wasn't as if his would be seen under his cloak. "And for the Maker's sake," she added. "Put your sword back on your hip. I don't trust anyone that much."

With that, she jerked the door open and marched outside, not caring if the witch was following in her wake. She was sick of Morrigan and Alistair's fighting, sick of being constantly angry with her fellow Warden. Before the battle at Ostagar, she considered him her best friend, but everything seemed to have changed, and she didn't know why exactly. She honestly wasn't sure how much more she could stand.

As she strode to the tavern, Solona gathered her thoughts to concentrate on the task ahead. She had to prepare for a fight just in case her frail trust in the redheaded woman had been misplaced. She had to get her mind off Alistair. Although he was right there with her every day, she missed him terribly. She missed his inane attempts to get her to smile. She missed his kindness and his laugh. Her hand absentmindedly reached for the amulet beneath her cloak, and she began to thumb the tiny sword and flames.

 _Get it together, Solona. Focus._

When the mage and the witch entered the inn, there was hardly any space to breathe, let alone move. Solona peered around the room until she spotted a table mostly hidden in shadow in the far corner. Sitting in the chair with its back facing the door was the woman with flaming red hair dressed in Chantry initiate robes.

Solona tapped Morrigan's arm and pointed to the table before making her way over to it. As they passed by the redhead's chair, she smiled up at them then rose to her feet.

"Oh! What a wonderful surprise!" she greeted with feigned excitement as she placed a kiss on each of the mage's cheeks. "I haven't seen either of you in so long."

The woman repeated the process with Morrigan, earning her a disgusted scowl from the witch. She indicated to the chairs that sat in shadow next to the wall.

"Please," she entreated. "Join me for a meal, my treat."

"Of course, dear," Solona replied in a cheery and sonorous voice as she made her way to the corner.

Such machinations were so commonplace in the Circle, she hardly gave it a second thought. Those types of ruses were typically followed by either a plot between apprentices to stab a so-called friend in the back or to plan an unauthorized gathering between mages. Morrigan, on the other hand, seemed absolutely appalled by the subterfuge.

"Where is that darling husband of yours?" the woman asked. "Will he be joining you or did you leave him behind to tend the children?"

"He'll be along shortly, I expect," the mage answered as she took her seat. "We left the children behind so we could have a day to ourselves. We ran into his sister along the way."

"It is good to see you again, as well, my dear," the redhead said to the witch.

Morrigan just harrumphed in response as she sat down. Solona regarded the ebony haired woman with a dark look, warning her to play along, but by the roll of the witch's eyes she knew it was a hopeless cause. The mage sighed before formulating a plausible explanation for her companion's behavior.

"Marian and Adrian got into an argument about their mother again," she explained. "You know how siblings can be."

"Of course," the redhead laughed. "I have a brother of my own, remember?"

Just as the woman finished her thought, Alistair appeared at her side. Solona couldn't chance him ruining their artifice, so she did the only thing she could think of and hoped he would get the hint. She stood, took him by the hand, and greeted him with a soft, but brief kiss.

When she reluctantly pulled away, he ran his tongue across his lips and searched her eyes as the space between his brows disappeared. At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to close the gap between them so she could taste the peppermint that lingered on his breath once again. His lips were so soft, so luscious and her heart was racing far too fast. She could scarcely breathe under the weight of his gaze.

Solona cleared her throat and bestowed a grin. "I was wondering if you were going to be haggling with that merchant all day, husband," she said. "I hope you didn't pay too much for that dagger. It hardly seemed worth the price the man was asking."

Alistair's face screwed up with a befuddled expression. "N…no," he stammered.

The redhead stood and greeted him the same way she had the two women. "It is _so_ good to see you again, Adrian," she said. "Please, sit. As soon as the barmaid comes we'll order lunch."

Solona pulled Alistair over to sit in the chair next to hers. The poor man looked more confused than the mage had ever seen him. The woman in initiate's robes took a quick glance around the room and leaned forward.

"My name is Leliana," she whispered. "Some of Arl Bryland's men were sent here to gather anyone who even looks as if they survived the battle to the south. Any soldiers who fought at Ostagar have been taken in for questioning, but so far, none have returned."

"Are you certain?" Alistair questioned.

"Yes," she replied. "And there's something else. Something much more important to you. An order has been posted on the Chanter's board. Any Grey Wardens found are to be arrested."

"For what?" the warrior asked, his indignation apparent to everyone at the table.

"For treason," Leliana told him. "Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir is blaming the Wardens for the death of the king."


	20. The Rose

For nearly five hours, Gabrielle ran back and forth between the bar, the kitchen, and the tables of hungry and thirsty customers without a break. There had been a constant flow of people going in and out of the tavern since she arrived. It wasn't even near the end of her shift, but she was already wanting it to be over so she could leave.

The heat from the kitchens and that of the bodies all packed in like rats in the keel of a sloop, was unbearable. Between that and rushing around, most of Gabrielle's hair had come loose from its binding and was plastered to her neck and the sides of her face with rivulets of sweat. She was exhausted and hot. With the stresses of work and her everyday life, coupled with the dark circles beneath her eyes from lack of sleep, the apostate appeared haggard and much older than her twenty-three years

She had just stepped out of the kitchen with two bowlfuls of mutton stew when someone near the door jostled her arm, causing her to drop the bowl in her right hand. She cursed as hot soup splattered all over her boots and the front of her dress. As she bent to retrieve the dropped bowl, the door to the kitchen opened out and hit her in the bottom, knocking her flat to the floor and sending the second bowl flying. She rose to the sight of small chunks of carrots, peas and meat swimming in globs of gravy covering the front half of her dress

 _Great. Could this day possibly get any worse?_

Just as Gabrielle picked herself up off the floor and began to swipe at the mess with her hands, Danal approached her and pointed to the table in the corner with his thumb.

"You're up, Gabby," he said, earning him a glower. "That group's been sitting there a while. The sister passed me extra coin to get her that table, but I don't like the looks of her company." He scowled at the apostate then threw her the bar towel he was carrying. "And for Andraste's sake, clean yourself up."

As she wiped the larger chunks away with the cloth, Gabrielle peered across the room to the table to which her employer had referred. She recognized the redheaded Chantry sister right away. Her brother had become completely infatuated with the woman over the previous few months. The people sitting with her, on the other hand, were hidden in shadow, making it difficult to discern anything about them.

The apostate heaved an annoyed sigh as she threw the bar towel onto the floor at her feet. She was still covered in food from head to toe, but it hardly mattered. She doubted a Chantry sister and her friends would add to her meager tips for the day, anyway. She checked her forearm to ensure it was relatively clean and then used it to wipe the perspiration from her brow and to remove any food that may have gotten stuck there.

When she finally approached the table, the Chantry sister was the first one to look up from the group's conversation. "Oh, hello," she greeted with a smile and a heavy Orlesian accent. "It's Gabby, isn't it?"

"Gabrielle," the serving girl corrected with an annoyed frown.

"I saw your brother this morning," the redhead told her. "He ran some errands for me. He's such a sweet boy."

The apostate gave a tight-lipped smile, giving her best effort to cover her indignation. It was just like Carver to play around in an attempt to gain the sister's attention while she worked her ass off all day. The boy was lazy, never giving a damn about the things his sister had to endure just to keep them all fed.

"What can I get for you?" she inquired, a bit more gruffly than she intended.

An ebony-haired woman with yellow-brown eyes wearing a dark blue cloak sneered up at Gabrielle. "Wine," she snapped.

"That sounds perfect," the Chantry sister agreed. "I'll have the same."

The woman sitting next to the overly rude one nodded her head. She wore a brown cloak and her hair was the same rich dark brown as Gabrielle's, but her eyes were the color of lapis instead of the apostate's aquamarine. The most surprising thing, though, was how very much she looked like Gabrielle's own sister, Bethany.

"I think I shall have the wine as well," she informed the barmaid with a superior tone and expression.

She may have looked like Bethany, but she certainly didn't possess the girl's amiable demeanor. Gabrielle then turned to observe the most handsome man she ever laid eyes upon sitting at the woman in brown's side. Her breath hitched in her throat as he studied her with a puzzled frown. It almost seemed as if he was trying to determine if he knew her. He continued staring for several moments, his eyes locked with hers until his ebony haired companion emitted a resonant sigh.

"Is it your intention to make us wait for you the entire day while you attempt to make up that nonexistent mind of yours?" she huffed.

He blanched, the bewildered scowl remaining on his face for another long moment before he finally smiled, prompting flutters in the pit of Gabrielle's stomach. She was completely taken in by his lopsided smirk and the intensity of his hazel-green eyes. That coupled with dark blonde hair, a set of broad shoulders, and the scruff of a few days old beard shadowing his muscular jaw all melded together to form the most perfect man she had ever met, aside from her father, of course.

She felt as if her knees might give way when he at last spoke. "Sorry," he apologized. "I'd like an ale, please…and maybe a bowl of stew. I'm famished."

"Yes, the same for me as well," the woman at his side added. "Actually, just bring us each a bowl and a platter of bread and cheese."

"Sure thing," Gabrielle replied with a nod, her eyes lingering on the man longer than they should.

When he smiled at her again, she felt her face flush crimson as she returned his gesture with a goofy grin of her own. The woman in brown cleared her throat prompting Gabrielle to realize she was making a complete ass out of herself. A small giggle escaped her lips, before she spun on her heels and quickly made her way to the bar.

 _Way to go, stupid. He probably thinks you're some kind of simple-minded idiot now._

The apostate gave a forlorn sigh as she poured three glasses of wine. It wasn't as if it mattered anyway. More than likely, he was staring at her that way because he was trying to figure out if she was a woman or a man. After placing the wine glasses on a tray, she made to grab a mug for the ale when Danal seized her bicep and pulled her to the side.

His deep brown eyes were full of concern as he lowered his mouth close to her ear. "You watch yourself, you hear me, Gabby?" he warned. "Those people are dangerous, I tell ya. Get 'em their order quick so they can get the void out of my place."

Gabrielle arched her brow before pulling her arm from her employer's grasp. She glared up at him, her green-blue eyes shining with anger. She wasn't sure about the strange women, but their male companion didn't seem threatening at all. In fact, his hazel eyes portrayed a man of great kindness and concern. He may have been confused by her awkward appearance, but there was no malice in him that she could see.

"Get your fucking hands off me," she exclaimed. "What the fuck's wrong with you, Danal?"

Her employer released her arm, but his tone and his expression weren't any less menacing. "Those aren't just any rabble of drunken fools. Didn't you see that guy's arm? Blue and grey scale? He's a Grey Warden, I tell ya'. Don't you know what they did?"

"Don't tell me you're actually buying into that bullshit." she retorted with disgust. "Grey Wardens would never do what they said. Why would they?"

"You always were a stubborn one, Gabby" the barman huffed. "I just didn't know you were stupid. I have a half a mind to turn 'em in myself. And I'd do it too, if it wouldn't disrupt my business. Just get 'em served and get 'em out!"

"Fine!" she seethed. "I'll get their order together as soon as I can. But if you _ever_ grab me like that again, I swear to the fucking Maker and holy Andraste herself that I will cut your balls off and shove them so far up your ass you'll have to shit for a week to find them again."

"That's it!" Danal roared. "I've had it! I don't care how busy we are. You're done! I've had it with your bad attitude and your smart mouth. The only reason I've kept you on this long is because I felt sorry for your poor mother. But I can't stand it another second. Get the fuck out and don't you ever show your face in my tavern again!"

Gabrielle's chest rose and fell with her heavy breaths as she glowered at the man towering over her. She could feel the heat of her magic as fire began to form in her balled fists. One shot, one blast would melt that expression from Danal's face.

 _Always ensure your magic serves what is best in you, Gabrielle, not what is most base._

The apostate's shoulders slumped as the words of her father rang in her ears. If she lost control of her magic, she would lose everything. Her family would lose everything. They were her responsibility. She couldn't afford to do anything so foolish, no matter how angry she was.

The tray of drinks sitting on the counter next to her caught her attention. She may not have been able to blast the bastard to the void, but she wasn't about to leave without his feeling the weight of her ire. As he stomped away, she slipped her hand beneath the salver then launched it at the back of Danal's head, propelling it with a bit of Force magic. She didn't even stay to witness the aftermath as the tray crashed into his skull. She simply spun on the balls of her feet and strode out the front door.

As she made her way to her family's home on the other side of the village, her head was filled with a million thoughts. How was she ever going to tell her family she got fired? What would they do without that coin? On the other hand, why was she the only one responsible? Carver was plenty old enough to work and help out. Why was everything always on her shoulders? As it stood, the only thing in her future was a lifetime of the same, and that's only if the templars didn't finally come after her and her sister. She would never have a life of her own if she didn't do something about it.

By the time she passed the Chantry, Gabrielle had made up her mind. She would go straight home, pack her things and run back to Danal's to ask the Wardens if she could join them. It wouldn't be an easy life to be certain, but it would have to be better than the one she had been living.

When she arrived home, Gabrielle burst through the door and hurried to her room where she began throwing her things into her old canvas pack. Once she had everything she could carry, she tore off the serving wench's dress to don a pair of dark brown wool trousers and a thin ivory linen shirt, both of which belonged to her father. She looped the worn leather belt she always wore around her waist twice before buckling it then pulled her old brown leather boots back onto her feet. She had just secured the laces, when she heard her mother calling for her from the narrow hallway outside her door.

"Gabrielle? Gabrielle are you in there? Are you alright sweetheart? Nelia just told me what happened."

 _Figures. Old biddy would run right over and tell mother._

Nelia was the worst busybody in Lothering. The only thing she loved more than dishing out the juiciest gossip was delivering bad news to people with feigned sympathy. Gabrielle's family had lived in a lot of places, and there was always a Nelia in every village. The only life women like her had was finding joy in the misery of others' lives.

"I'm fine, Mother" Gabrielle answered as she threw her pack over her shoulder and opened the door.

"Thank the Maker, you're alright," said Leandra. "But I'm not sure how we're going to make it with you out of a job now. There's hardly enough coin as it is." Her brows furrowed together when she noticed the full satchel on her daughter's back. "Are you planning on going somewhere? Is it the templars?"

Gabrielle shook her head. "No, Mother. The templars aren't after me. I…just…"

"Good," Leandra breathed a sigh of relief. "Maybe since you're out of work so early in the day, Barlin will have extra deliveries for you to make. If not, perhaps you can see if any of the local farmers need help clearing out their fields for early planting."

"Mother…"

"You have to do something, Gabrielle," her mother insisted. "Without that income, I don't know what we will do. I'm having a difficult enough time keeping Carver from enlisting in the king's army, especially after what happened at Ostagar. Whatever you do, you have to make sure that doesn't happen. I already lost your father. I can't lose your brother, too."

Leandra continued speaking, but Gabrielle didn't hear a word of it. As determined as she had been to leave, she knew in her heart she couldn't go. The truth of the life which kept her bound to that tiny village fell in on her like a ton of stone bricks. She wasn't going anywhere. No matter how much she hated it at times, taking care of her family was her burden to bear. She pulled the pack from her shoulder and flung it into her room where it hit the foot of her small bed with a thud before bouncing off and landing on the floor.

"I'm going to head to Barlin's farm now, Mother," Gabrielle interrupted what she was sure was simply Leandra's mindless prattling on about Ostagar, a topic which had become very popular in the Hawke household as of late. "I'll be home sometime after dark."

Leandra kissed her daughter on the cheek. "Just be careful, darling. I'll keep a fire under the kettle so your supper will be warm when you return." Gabrielle forced a tight lipped smile before turning toward the door leading outside. "And Gabrielle…" her mother called, telling her what was going to be said was of a serious nature. "Nelia said Grey Wardens were roaming around the village. Make sure to stay clear of them. The Wardens are very dangerous people."

"Yes, Mother" Gabrielle sighed heavily with slumped shoulders as she made her way down the short, narrow hallway and out the door. As she headed toward old Barlin's place, she knew the Wardens in the tavern were probably already on their way out of town, carrying her own hopes and dreams of freedom with them.

* * *

After their food was delivered, Leliana and Solona continued speaking in hushed whispers about the arl's men and making plans to avoid them. Alistair hardly heard a word of it, though. His mind dwelled on the serving girl who was unceremoniously ousted from her job. He felt as if he should know her from somewhere, but he couldn't quite place her.

 _Gabrielle_

He rolled her name over and over in his mind. It was such an unusual moniker, one he never remembered hearing before. Yet, somehow, it seemed oddly familiar. She seemed familiar. The voice of a man sitting nearby interrupted his musings.

"I can't believe she threatened to cut off Danal's balls like that," the old man laughed. "He's at least three times her size."

"Well," his drinking companion replied. "Gabby was always a little spitfire."

 _Gabby…balls…Dammit!_

That was it. Alistair remembered exactly who the woman was. He couldn't believe he didn't see it before. It had been almost ten years since he last laid eyes on her, and she had aged since then, but it was definitely her. Gabby had been the first girl he ever had a crush on.

The first time he remembered his father visiting Redcliffe when he was seven, Arl Eamon had hired on a few temporary servants to work around the castle for the week to attend the surplus of nobles in King Maric's wake. One of them was a very tall man with ebony hair who was employed to help in the stables. That man brought his daughter to work with him one day.

A few years older than him, she was the most beautiful girl Alistair had ever seen, with hair fashioned in long pigtails and just a few shades lighter than her father's. And, just like her father, her eyes were the most stunning green-blue in color. It was a hue the stable boy had only seen once before. The year prior, the Cousland family brought with them an overly tall and lanky bully on their annual visit to the castle. He bore the same aquamarine colored irises.

Alistair had been too shy to talk to the girl, of course, choosing to watch her brush out the horses from his place in the loft. When Kenton found him hiding there, the old man took him out behind the barn and gave him one of the worst beatings of his life for being lazy. When he returned to the stables, bloody and bruised, the girl approached him with a sympathetic smile.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

Alistair could only stare at her, dumbstruck, with his heart pounding like a blacksmith's hammer on hardened steel. Her smile widened, creating small crinkles at the bridge of her nose, which only added to her loveliness.

"I'm Gabby," she told him. "What's your name?"

He opened his mouth to introduce himself, but nothing came out save a long series of unintelligible noises. When he felt tears caused by frustration and embarrassment stinging his eyes, he bolted from the barn as fast as his short legs could carry him. For the remainder of that day, he worked outside the stables, avoiding the girl seeing him at all costs, but peeking through the cracks in the stable walls at her every chance he got.

The next time he saw her was three years later, the second time Maric visited Redcliffe. Gabby still looked like a little girl, only taller, the day she helped her father in the stables. She didn't stay long that time, however. While her father was busy helping Dennet saddle up horses for the nobles' hunting trip, his daughter was sent out behind the barn to locate a thrown horseshoe. While she was outside, she was approached and subsequently accosted by the Arl of Denerim's son, Vaughan Kendells.

Alistair ran in to rescue her, unsure of what he would be able to do considering the boys were older and bigger than him, but Gabby took care of it herself before he arrived. She punched Vaughan in the nose, breaking it with an echoing crack, then told him she would cut off his balls if he ever came near her again. Gabby and her father, of course, were abruptly ousted from the castle grounds in the aftermath and told to never return.

Most of his childhood and half his adolescent years were spent daydreaming about the dark-haired girl with aquamarine eyes. He could scarcely believe he found her after all those years, and she was even more beautiful than he remembered her. How many nights did he spend going over the things he would say if he ever saw her again? He had to locate her, to finally talk to her.

The warrior regarded the woman sitting to his left. She was breathtaking and intelligent, and he was hopelessly in love with her. He so wanted that kiss she gave him when he arrived to the tavern to be real, but it wasn't. It was all part of a ruse designed to throw off suspicion. Solona would never see him as anything more than her fellow Warden, a friend at best. Not that he thought he had a real chance with Gabby, but given the smile she wore when she was taking his order, perhaps…

 _And why would any beautiful woman give you the time of day, jackass? Do you think becoming a Grey Warden made you any better looking or more appealing? To anyone?_

Still, something inside him told him he had to try. But how? He couldn't very well just come out and ask Solona for some time to himself to go chasing after some girl. Even if he weren't positive she would deny his request, given his feelings for the mage, it just felt wrong.

Leliana appeared to know Gabby. Perhaps he could extract information about the former barmaid from her. But how could he do that with Solona sitting right there? He drummed his fingers on the wooden surface of the table for several minutes until his fellow Warden slapped her hand over his.

"Stop that," she demanded. "It's getting on my nerves." She glanced around the room before addressing the redhead sitting across the table. "Privy?" she asked.

Leliana pointed to a door further along the wall. "Over there," she replied. "The privy is outside and to the right at the corner."

"I will return momentarily," the mage told her companions as she rose to her feet.

Once she had disappeared through the door, Alistair leaned in closer to Leliana. "What can you tell me about that barmaid?" he inquired. "The first one?"

A broad and knowing smile formed on the redhead's lips. "I thought I recognized a spark between the two of you," she teased.

"Oh, how very quaint," Morrigan chided. "The fool found a playmate. She does rather seem your type, Alistair. Filthy, ill tempered, and not very bright. A perfect match."

The warrior shot a glare at the witch before returning his attention to Leliana. "Please," he entreated. "Tell me about her."

"Her name is Gabrielle Hawke," replied the woman in initiate's robes. "She lives just outside of town with her mother and her younger brother and sister. Since her father died a few years ago, she has been forced to take on the sole responsibility of caring for her family."

"Outside of town?" he asked. "Do you know where?"

"On the north side, past the bridge," she answered. "But I don't know which one exactly. I've never been there. I've heard her home once belonged to a man who murdered his wife, but you know how rumors are. Perhaps one of the local villagers could be of more help. I have only been in Lothering myself for a few months."

"Is there anything else you can tell me?" he pressed. "Anything at all."

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "I really don't know any more about her. She never sets foot inside the Chantry as far as I know. The only one I ever really see is her brother. A bit surly, that one, unless he's attempting to flirt with me. I find his endeavors quite charming at times."

Alistair shrugged as he spotted Solona walking back toward their table. "It's alright. Thanks anyway."

The mage plopped onto her chair with a huff. "It's not even worth my time," she complained. "The line to use the facilities is longer than the Theirin lineage. I suppose I will just have to wait." She scanned the room before leaning in closer to Leliana. "So, when we leave here, you and I will go to speak to the revered mother while Morrigan waits near the Qunari's cage and Alistair retrieves the dog."

Leliana presented a nod. "I think that is the most sound plan, and will keep the three of you from being as easily recognized."

"And the mutt?" Morrigan questioned. "It stands out in a crowd a bit, does it not?"

"You are right, of course," the redhead agreed. "Alistair should wait for us in the village near the road until we signal him to leave as we pass. Then he can retrieve your mabari and catch up to us at the prison cage. "

"Then we should go now," Solona prompted. "The sooner we get this over and done, the better."

"Alright," Leliana agreed. "We have to keep up appearances, however."

"Don't worry," the mage told her. "I've got that covered." She turned to Alistair and raised her voice loud enough so that the people around her could hear. "Oh, very well, Adrian. If the stupid dagger means that much to you, go buy it for the Maker's sake!"

She jabbed him in the bicep with her elbow and gave him a glare to inform him he should play along. "I just think we need some kind of protection in case of attack," he answered in an overly emotive tone.

"Please," Solona answered with a roll of her eyes. "You'd stab yourself before anything got close enough to attack you."

The two old drunks sitting at the next table roared with laughter at that sentiment, which elicited the hint of a sly smile from the mage. "Now, go on dear," she continued. "I'll meet you at the market shortly. I'm going to the Chantry with Sister Leliana to say a prayer for the safety of the village." She then addressed Morrigan. "Marian dear, we will see you later."

The witch gave a small nod of acknowledgement before taking another sip of her wine. Alistair was the first to rise from his chair, but Solona stopped him before he could proceed by grabbing his hand. She tapped her cheek with the tip of her index finger.

"Aren't you forgetting something, husband?" she asked, prompting another chuckle from the old men.

"Sorry," he mumbled before bending down and placing a gentle kiss on her cheek.

Her skin was so soft and the flavor of sweet cream and honey lingered on his lips. He ran his tongue across them to savor the taste, wishing he could kiss more than just her cheek. He would have given anything to call her his, but he knew in his heart that pursuing her was a pointless endeavor.

Without another word, Alistair made his way out of the inn through the backdoor that led to the privy and into the road. His thoughts of Solona were quickly forgotten when he realized he was on the north side of the village. He surveyed the landscape in the distance ahead, but he spotted no houses nearby. The closest he saw were too far away to reach to get back in time to receive Solona and Leliana's signal.

 _Maybe she didn't go home. Maybe she's still in the village somewhere._

He knew looking for her was futile. Any person with even half a brain would have headed straight home after such an experience, but he had to at least make an attempt to find her. He'd never be able to forgive himself if he didn't.

As he walked the paths through the village looking for Gabby, Alistair began to fantasize once again about the girl with the brilliant green-blue eyes. It was probably completely selfish and insensitive of him, given the dangers they would face, but he really wanted to get to know her. To maybe even have a sort of relationship with her. If he were anything but a Grey Warden, he would have been free to pursue her whenever he damned well wished. But, given his circumstances, the most he could hope for was to drop in to visit her whenever he was passing through Lothering. Still, it was better than nothing.

After scouring the entire village without any luck, Alistair wandered over to the house where Harley was being kept. He ambled around to the side of the ramshackle hovel, ensuring he could still see the bridge from where he stood. That's when he spotted something he hadn't noticed the last time he was there.

A gnarled and withered bush covered a large portion of the outer wall. The thing had obviously been dead for longer than just that winter, but, in the midst of the decaying branches, grew the bud of a perfect, single red rose. How could something so beautiful flourish amongst such death and aberration? He ran his fingers across its delicate petals, fully expecting it to fall apart at his touch, but it didn't. Neither was it dry nor rough, but soft and alive.

The call of a nightingale resonated from his left, and he turned toward the sound to spot Leliana's flaming red locks as she and Solona passed by the hovel. Alistair watched them a minute, then took a step toward the door to retrieve his mabari, but stopped in his tracks. He turned to the withered bush and its treasure and simply stared at it for a moment. He stroked the petals again before running his fingers down a few inches from the bloom then gave a tug to the stem. It emitted a snap as it broke loose from the bottom portion.

As he pulled his prize free from the entanglement, the green that remained wilted to black. Within seconds, the entire bush disintegrated into a fine powder and fell to the earth below. Alistair held his breath as he waited for the rose to succumb to a similar fate. The delicate petals trembled then opened just a tiny bit, but not one fell from the bloom.

He walked to the door leading into the house and jerked it open to find Harley waiting for him with drool dripping from his tongue onto the dirt floor. He knelt down and gave the dog a light scratch behind the ears and showed him his prize.

"Someday, boy," he smiled, "Someday I'll work up the courage to come back here and give this rose to Gabby."

Harley gave an excited bark as the warrior tucked the flower into the front of his tunic. That rose was a sign. It had to be. For the first time in a long time, Alistair finally felt something in his life might actually go right for a change.


	21. The Fall Of The Tower

Anders sat in the restricted section of the senior enchanters' library studying the text, _The Framework of the Human Body,_ and jotting down notes. He honestly didn't know why he even bothered anymore, except for the fact that he had to do something to keep his mind busy. He scanned the room only to find Rolan glowering at him from the doorway. The healer raised his middle finger to the templar before returning his focus to the tome.

Since the day he was released from the dungeons, one of the Chantry lapdogs followed him everywhere. Whenever he went to sleep, whenever he woke, there was a templar. He even had an escort when he got up to use the privy in the middle of the night. He never received a moment's peace from the armored guards. As bad as that was, it wasn't the worst thing Anders was made to endure. The worst affliction he suffered was from a shattered heart.

The day he discovered Solona had been conscripted by the Grey Wardens was the worst day of his life. It was only then he realized how much she had truly meant to him. She was his everything, and he cursed himself every day for never telling her that.

If only he had been wiser, less afraid of the things he felt, she might still be with him. The three times he escaped before the trouble with Karl in the Gallows always happened when he and Solona were becoming closer. He recalled the events leading up to his fifth escape perfectly.

He and Solona had been spending a lot more time together. Because he was being watched more closely, she would sneak into his room at night by seducing the templars guarding the hall outside his door. She would trade admittance inside for the price of a hand job or fellatio for the more stubborn guards. Then she would enter his chambers, wash her hands and rinse her mouth, and the two of them would spend the remainder of the evening together.

Sometimes they would cuddle and have long conversations. Most nights they would have sex at least once before she left before first light. During the day, Solona would find her way to the senior mages' library where they would sit next to each other and study, which usually wound up being more conversation and childish play than research.

Two nights before his fifth escape, Solona agreed to join him in his room as usual. Although they had spent nearly the entire day together, Anders found he couldn't wait for her arrival. The anticipation of seeing her, of spending time alone together, actually produced fluttering in his stomach. It was a sensation he had never felt before, and it scared the life out of him.

When Solona finally arrived, Anders took her into his arms and kissed her, deeply and passionately. He picked her up from the floor and carried her to his bed where he gently lay her down. After quickly removing his own robes, he made sure to take great time and care in the removal of hers. Most of his evening was spent caressing her body and making every effort to ensure his lips touched each part his fingers had.

When he finally moved to enter her, he gazed deeply into her lapis eyes. She was beautiful, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Words he had never spoken to anyone threatened to pour from his lips. Instead he captured her mouth with his and slowly pushed inside her. His heart felt as if it would burst from his chest in that moment, but he kept his rhythm at a gradual, steady pace. The taste of her kiss, the sensation of her body pressed to his drove him to the brink of madness. The pleasure was indescribable, as was the anguish. No matter how he tried, Anders couldn't get close enough to her. The passion and the intensity of it were all-consuming, leaving him to feel as if he were drowning, dying, and the only thing that could save him was her embrace, her kiss.

He entangled his fingers in Solona's hair then gave her one, final passionate kiss as he exploded inside her, his body shuddering as his seed flowed from him in waves of ecstasy. The healer had been with many women throughout his life, but that night with Solona was the most profound sexual experience he had ever known. He kissed her softly and stared down into her eyes as his entire being, his very soul, trembled.

She gazed up at him expectantly. He could see the words she longed to hear, the words he longed to say, but he just couldn't bring himself to utter them. He caressed her cheek.

"Thank you," he breathed. "That was amazing."

"Yes, it was" she purred.

Anders rolled off of her onto the mattress. "I hate to say it, but I've got a long day ahead of me tomorrow," he lied. "Wynne is supposed to show me some new method of using spirits to heal. Something about using less of my own mana."

Her brow creased in anguished confusion. "Oh…Alright." She gave him a half-hearted smile.

"I'm sorry," Anders apologized. "But you understand, right?"

"Sure," Solona nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "I understand."

She snatched her robes from the floor and pulled them over her head. She didn't even bother to put on her shoes, choosing instead to carry them. After giving him a quick peck on the lips, she said a reticent "Goodnight" before scurrying for the door.

"Goodnight, sweetheart," he called after her, but she didn't acknowledge the words.

Anders avoided Solona the entire next day, taking great pains not to be anywhere he thought she might happen to show up. The following day, he was headed to the Hinterlands, away from Solona and away from the emotions he refused to let himself feel.

When he was captured and returned to the tower, the healer went back to pretending things between he and Solona were nothing more than friendship with the occasional benefit. That approach only lasted a few weeks until Anders could no longer bear it. He had to do something to get his mind off her.

In an attempt to avoid Solona, Anders began spending a lot more time with his friend Karl, and things just progressed from there. Although Anders grew to love the man, he was never in love with him. He simply never felt the connection to him that he and Solona shared. He used Karl to avoid facing his feelings for Solona, and it was that manipulation that led to Karl's transfer to the Gallows.

Anders heard voices coming from somewhere near the archway and recognized the high-pitched, cackling timbre of Senior Enchanter Uldred. Uldred was an odd little man, whom Anders never really trusted. He always seemed a bit shifty with his beady eyes, hawk-like nose, and sinister grins.

The healer turned to see the senior mage hand a slip of parchment to Rolan. "As you can see, Irving has given us permission to hold a meeting of the fraternities in this area of the library."

Rolan pointed a thumb in Anders' direction. "And what about him?"

Uldred waved his hands dismissively. "He can stay."

"I'm supposed to keep an eye on him."

"Young man, don't you think that two dozen enchanters can keep one boy from escaping. Let him finish his research. If he gives us any trouble, we'll send for you."

Rolan shrugged. "I'm tired of watching the fucking princess anyway." He handed the paper back to Uldred. "I'll be in the dining hall. Just send someone to fetch me when you're ready to get rid of his ass."

The enchanter flapped his hand to shoo the templar away. "Yes, yes. We'd like to get this meeting started before we all die of old age."

Anders couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of Rolan being dismissed by one of the gifted. The templar always wore his hatred for those who wielded magic on his outer bicep like a patch of honor. To see him be cowed by Uldred was a delightful spectacle. Although he was still miserable, it did lighten the healer's mood a bit.

Once Rolan was gone, Uldred closed the door leading out of the library. He then sealed it with a glyph to prevent any interruptions or prying ears from hearing the details of the meeting. When his task was complete, he approached Anders' table.

"Young man, you are the one who has escaped the tower several times, are you not?"

"And what if I am?" Anders drawled with a bored expression.

"Are you a libertarian, then?"

"No, I'm a loyalist," he retorted in a snarky and arrogant tone. "Can't you see my love for the Chantry and the Circles oozing out of my pores?"

Uldred glowered at him. "There is no need for such derision."

The younger mage crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. "I'm not a libertarian. I'm not anything. The First Enchanter seems to think promoting me would be a bad idea for some reason. Something about setting a bad example for other mages."

"Then why are you in the restricted section of the Senior Enchanters' library?" the bald man queried with a scowl

"Because I'm bloody brilliant," the healer retorted. "The rest of the world will never know that, however, seeing as I was told I'd never see the light of the sun again."

Uldred's lips curled into a wide grin. "Good enough," he exclaimed before leaning in close to the younger man's ear. "How would you like some payback? Hmm? For the year you spent rotting in that dungeon? And let's not forget your _friend_. That whole business of Irving and Greagoir sending him to the Gallows. What a nasty piece of work that was."

Anders' blood began to boil. Karl. Solona. All that study gone to waste. All his hopes and dreams dashed. All because he wanted to protect his mother.

He peered at Uldred from the corner of his eye. "And what is it you want me to do?"

"Join us," Uldred hissed. The sensation of his hot, stinking breath and the menacing tone of his voice sent a cold shiver up the healer's spine.

Anders bobbed his head in response then scanned the room. He recognized most of the enchanters present, but many were missing. If it were truly only a meeting of the fraternities, there would have been more. It was then he realized there were two groups who weren't represented: the Loyalists and, more importantly, the Aequitarians.

Besides Uldred, there were twenty-three enchanters in the room. Representing the Libertarians were Senior Enchanter Uldred, seven junior enchanters, and five more senior enchanters. The Lucrosians counted four among them, and the Isolationists numbered seven, including an unassuming enchanter named Niall whom Anders had known since he was thirteen.

Uldred stood and raised his arms to quiet the chatter in the room. "As you are keenly aware," he began. "We stand on the brink of a new Blight. I have just returned from Ostagar and bore witness to the devastation the darkspawn will cause. In fact, Senior Enchanter Wynne and I barely made it out with our lives. The King of Ferelden lies dead on the battlefield, as do all the Grey Wardens."

Anders gasped, so loudly that it caused every eye in the room to turn on him. All the blood ran out of his face and his skin grew cold as ice.

"Solona," he breathed.

Uldred began to drone on, but the healer didn't hear a word. He felt sick. It was all he could do not to vomit all over the marble floor at his feet. His throat closed. He couldn't breathe. Heartbroken tears spilled from his amber eyes onto his cheeks.

There was an argument among the enchanters. What were they saying? He dropped his head between his knees and covered it with his hands as he started to rock back and forth. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Not anymore.

He wanted to scream, but he couldn't. He couldn't find his voice. The only thing he could do was choke on the sobs washing over him in waves of misery. He wanted to die.

 _Maker, please let me die_.

Up until that moment, Anders was sure he would never see Solona again, but there was always a slim chance that, someday, somehow, they might be reunited. Now someday would never come. She was gone. She was gone and he never told her how much she meant to him…how much he loved her.

He felt a hand grip his arm. "Anders…Anders! We have to get out of here. We have to do something." The healer looked up with tear-filled, bloodshot eyes to see Niall standing over him. "We have to stop Uldred."

Niall's expression was one of absolute terror. His naturally pale skin had gone completely white, and his chocolate brown eyes were wide with fear. His lips trembled as he gasped for breath.

Anders' face contorted with confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"Uldred," Niall replied with panic in his voice. "He's gone mad. He's going to use blood magic to take over the tower."

The healer waggled his head. He simply couldn't make himself care. If the tower and the templars were destroyed in the process, all the better.

"Let him," he croaked. "Why should I give a Maker fuck?"

Niall backed away. "Not you too. I thought you were a healer…that you actually gave a damn about human life."

"I'm not a healer," Anders spat. "I'm not anything. This fucking place made sure of that." He exhaled a heavy, protracted sigh. "Nothing matters anymore. Not the tower, not the mages, not me. Nothing."

Niall pursed his lips. His brow furrowed in disappointment. He turned to leave, then stopped, not bothering to turn to look at his old acquaintance. "I'm going to help the others…if I can."

Anders watched him walk toward the door. He didn't want to get involved. The part of him that wanted to die, to join Solona, awaited the release of a life gone completely wrong. There was freedom in death. Freedom he would never otherwise know. Then he thought of his father. Was he really what that bastard always said he was? A lazy waste of space who would never amount to anything?

He stood. "Niall…wait." The other man stopped and peered at the tall blonde man from over his shoulder. Anders sprinted to catch up to him. "I'm coming with you."

The two men hurried to the stockroom where they found Owain rifling through some crates. Anders could hear shouting down the corridor coming from the direction of Irving's office. They had precious little time.

"Owain?" the healer hissed, trying to gain the tranquil's attention without garnering any from other prying ears. The stock keeper kept working. "Owain!" he repeated more forcefully.

The sedate man turned and walked toward him. "May I help you?" he asked in a lifeless, even tone.

"We need the Litany of Adralla," Anders told him. "Do you have that here?"

"I am sorry," Owain apologized. "But you are not allowed access to anything in the stockroom, Anders. By order of the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander."

"Maker fuck." Anders cursed.

The other two tranquil in the room eyed the tall mage for a moment before returning to their work. Niall placed a hand on the healer's arm to calm his growing ire.

"And what about me, Owain?" the enchanter asked. "Can you give the Litany to me?"

"I am sorry," the tranquil countered. "That is a restricted item. You must have a signed requisition from a senior enchanter to access restricted items."

"Where is the Litany, anyway, Owain?" Niall questioned. "Is it even in the stockroom?"

The stock keeper pointed to a tall cabinet filled with scrolls standing against the wall behind him. There were no other tranquil near it. One of Owain's assistants was digging through a crate, not paying any attention to her surroundings. The other had left the room carrying several large tomes.

"It is over there. On that shelf" Owain informed him.

Niall let out a low whistle. "How in the Maker's name would you be able to find it in all those other scrolls?"

"Every scroll in the stockroom is categorized in alphabetical order," the tranquil man explained. "It is within the shelf marked with the letter L."

Niall gave Anders a knowing glance before addressing the stock keeper again. "So, where is this form I need to have signed?"

"I have the form you need in my desk," he answered. "I will get it for you."

Niall followed Owain to the desk, keeping his body between the other man's gaze and the cabinet holding the Litany. Anders crept over and located the correctly labeled cubby. Fortunately for him, each scroll was neatly marked on the outside with its name. He rifled through them as quickly and quietly as possible before finally discovering the appropriate one. After a quick glance around to ensure no one was watching, he pulled it out and stuffed it down the front of his robes.

While Owain remained distracted, the healer sidled over to the doorway. He had barely got a foot out of the exit, when he caught sight of Uldred approaching with a group of the mages from the earlier meeting. The healer ducked back inside the stockroom then recovered the Litany from his robes. After dropping it on the floor, he kicked it away a few feet then stepped out into the rotunda in time to run directly into Uldred.

"Hello again, young man," the bald enchanter greeted with a leer. "Decided to join us after all, did you?"

Anders scanned the faces of the mages behind Uldred. In their midst he spotted the First Enchanter floating a few inches above the stone floor, his head drooping and arms dangling like a marionette's.

"Irving has decided to be difficult," Uldred explained. "You don't intend to be difficult…do you, my boy?"

"Of course not," the healer replied with a smug arch of his left brow. He was well versed in such guise, but he worried the senior enchanter might see through it. He tried to maintain his usual arrogant demeanor, but his insides had turned to slush. "I'm looking forward to watching this place burn."

Uldred cackled, a high-pitched, malevolent sound which made Anders cringe. "As am I, dear boy. As am I." The old enchanter regarded the female mage standing at his side. "Zaria, why don't you take our new friend here and find Wynne." His villainous grin widened. "If she does not wish to cooperate, you know what to do."

Zaria presented the older man with a small bow. "Of course, Uldred."

She pivoted on her heel and tugged at Anders' arm to prompt him to follow her to the stairwell that led to the first floor. As she paraded the healer through the apprentice's library, Zaria gave a nod to several mages and enchanters along the way. Each time she did, the person she directed began attacking anyone and everyone in the immediate vicinity.

Anders watched in horror as they all transformed into hideous, twisted creatures. Blood splattered across the bookshelves and the marble tile as claws and fangs ripped the flesh of templars and apprentices alike. Even the children who were unlucky enough to be in the library became victims of the abominations.

The healer had to force himself to swallow back the waves of vile that rushed into the back of his throat. The horror of the events unfolding before him were unbearable. To make matters worse, it went against his very nature to allow such atrocities to occur without attempting to aid those who were suffering. Several times, he had to stop himself from pulling away from Zaria's grasp to help. The only thing stopping him was the knowledge that had to go along with the ruse until they located Wynne. There was no way he would be able to take all those abominations on by himself.

When they finally located Wynne, she was with a young female mage named Petra in the apprentices' corridor near the children's dormitories. The silver haired enchanter rounded on them as they approached.

"Anders?" she questioned, her brow creased in disappointment. "I never thought you would be a part of this."

The healer glanced at Zaria whose attention was focused completely on Wynne. Two children, a boy and a girl peeked out from around the doorway of the dormitory. He had to do something before they met the same fate as the others.

 _No time like the present, I suppose._

He forced back his fear and used the entire weight of his body to ram his shoulder into Zaria's side. She toppled over with a sharp gasp of surprise. The moment she hit the floor, Anders cast a spell of paralysis.

"That won't hold her long," he warned his mentor. "Gather every child you can and get the fuck out of here, Wynne. Uldred's gone off the deep end."

She waggled her head. "And where are we to go, Anders? The Circle is my home and I will defend it to the last."

He pointed to the terrified boy and girl standing in the doorway. "And what of them? Are you just going to allow all of them to die?"

"If we try to get them past the templars, they'll die anyway," Petra interjected.

From the corner of his eye, Anders saw Zaria's body begin to transform. Her skin bubbled and boiled as her face and body twisted into a grotesque, misshapen, monstrous lump. Within moments she had completely mutated into a humanoid-like shape writhing on the ground.

"It's too late," he breathed.

The healer rushed over to the children, took one in each arm, and sprinted toward the door leading down to the basement. He may not have been able to save all of them, but by the Maker, those two would survive. He stomped the middle of the door with his large foot, causing it to crash open then set the children down.

"Hide," he told them. "Anywhere you can find. And don't come out unless Wynne or Petra come to get you."

Both children nodded in agreement before running down the narrow corridor toward the cellar storerooms. Anders circled and threw an ice spell at the abomination that was advancing on him. The spell glanced off the monster's shoulder as it continued toward him. He pulled the staff from his back, rotated on his left foot and landed a hit right into the beast's torso. It blanched for only a moment then raised its gnarled hands to cast. Anders threw a shield to block the incoming attack, then shoved the butt of his stave into the abomination's chest. It screeched in rage as it reeled backward.

The healer kicked out with his foot and landed a boot to the creature's gut, but it caught his calf and gave it a twist causing a sickening crack to echo throughout the chamber. Anders cried out in pain as his upper body toppled to the floor. As he attempted to crawl away, he felt sharp nails digging into his broken leg.

He closed his eyes, awaiting the fate that was about to befall him, when a brilliant light flashed across the room. As he lay there, lids shut tight, he heard the clinking of heavy plate echo throughout the chamber.

"Knight Commander," he heard Rolan say. "What about them?"

"It looks like they took care of themselves," Greagoir answered as he turned to march toward the next corridor.

Then, something caught his eye to make him stop. He pointed over to where Anders lay near the basement door and then looked to Cullen. "Check _him_ templar," he ordered. "If he's still breathing, put a sword through his throat."

"Yes, Knight-Commander," the young templar concurred with a fist to his heart.

Seconds later, Cullen was kneeling next to Anders. He placed his fingers over the largest vein in the healer's neck. Then he lowered his head to the mage's mouth to determine if he could discern any breath.

"Run," whispered Cullen as he placed a ring of keys on the healer's chest. "As soon as we've cleared the room. It's your only chance." The templar then stood and spun on his heel to face Greagoir. "He's dead," he announced.

"You're certain?" the Knight Commander questioned.

"Yes, ser," Cullen lied. "That abomination tore him to shreds."

Greagoir exhaled a long sigh. "At least _something_ good will come out of all this."

The moment the templars' footsteps faded into the direction of the library, Anders opened his eyes to take stock of the devastation surrounding him. Black, tarlike liquid oozed across the ground toward his feet as he sat up and mended his fibula as best he could. Healing others came easy to him. Healing his own broken bones proved to be a lot more difficult. He shuffled to his feet and, after shoving the ring of keys in his pocket, gazed down at his attacker who was bleeding from every orifice.

He spotted Wynne several feet away, face down on the floor, and hobbled over to check on her. There was no pulse, no breath, only lifeless blue eyes staring up at him. He then moved on to Petra, and was relieved to find her unconscious with a gaping wound in her head where it hit the floor. The healer allowed a bit of mana to trickle from his fingertips to seal the bone and the gash.

Anders turned his head and looked down the hall toward the outer doors. There was no one there. No templars. No mages. The corridor was completely empty. His breath quickened as his flight instinct kicked in, and the part of him that wanted to die was forgotten. The templars were going to kill them all. Every man, woman, and child who possessed the gift would perish, whether they were innocent of Uldred's crimes or not. He had to get out.

The healer placed the end of his staff on the ground and hauled himself to his feet. He used the stave as a walking stick to support his injury as he limped toward the outer doors as fast as he could manage. The pain in his leg burned, but not as much as the idea of freedom. Between the trouble in the tower and the Blight, it would take months for anyone to find him, perhaps years.

When he reached the outer doors, he expected to find resistance, but there was not a templar in sight. He took the keyring from his pocket and then jammed one into the lock. It worked on the first try.

 _Thank the Maker for small favors._

As the hinges creaked open, Anders heard the sounds of heavy footfalls in the hallway on the other side of the inner doors. He quickly slipped outside and began hobbling toward the docks. Before he reached them, however, the healer veered to his left and hurried toward the northern part of the island. Just as he neared the water, he used a cone of cold spell to form a layer of ice on the surface and began sliding across to the other shore.

By the time Anders toppled onto solid ground, his mana was nearly spent. He had no lyrium potions to replenish his magic and nearly fainted from the effort of trying to stand. After a quick glance around, he spotted a grove of trees nearby and somehow managed to stagger over to them. Once inside the tree line, he collapsed, blacking out to his surroundings.


	22. Sisters

Gabrielle stood at the garden gate that led to the tumble-down shack she and her family called home. As she examined the depressing landscape, she couldn't help but shake her head. The house was in complete disrepair. There were bald spots in the thatching of the roof, places where her mother sat buckets beneath to catch falling rain during storms. The wood slats of the walls were rough and rotting with holes of varying sizes throughout, eaten away by time, weather, and the gnawing of hungry insects.

To the right of the hovel and further back, there stood an ancient dilapidated barn with half its roof missing on the loft side, apparently the victim of a fire. Gabrielle had only been inside the outbuilding once in the ten years she lived in Lothering, and that was enough. Even her father wouldn't step a foot inside that barn when he was alive. The fact that it appeared as if it would cave in at any moment was only a small part of the reason no one ever entered that building.

The biggest problem Gabrielle's family had with it was the feel of the place. Inside, the very air seemed alive with misery, rage, hate, and guilt. The vast number of empty bottles of alcohol littering the floor told the story of someone who continually tried to drown his troubles and failed miserably time and again. It was almost as if the place were haunted, but whether by wretchedness or ghosts, Gabrielle could not tell.

The house itself wasn't much better in its ambience. Besides being rundown, there seemed to be a presence that lingered within, especially in Leandra's room. Gabrielle's mother had always been plagued by fits of melancholy, but after moving into that shack in Lothering, it only seemed to get worse. The apostate had been told tales of how the village drunk had murdered his wife in that home after their only son was taken by the templars, but she was never one to give in to rumors. Still, the place was unsettling, but at least the rent was cheap, and it was their home.

After finally unlatching the gate and giving it the slightest of pushes, it fell off its hinges and toppled to the ground. Gabrielle's slight shoulders and chest rose and fell heavily with indignation. She was fed up. Fed up with her day. Fed up with her life. Fed up with how everything in the world just seemed to fall to pieces around her. She used Force magic to launch the gate several feet ahead of her before calling a fireball into her palm and hurling it at the broken fixture.

As she stomped her way down the path, Gabrielle muttered a continual string of curses under her breath. She was in one of the worst moods of her life. The remainder of her day hadn't gone any better than her morning and early afternoon. When she arrived at Barlin's, she did as her mother asked and requested more work for the day. Instead of giving her extra deliveries to make, the old man put her to the tasks of mucking the stable and oiling saddles. It wasn't that she minded the work. She had done it before. What angered her was the fact that Barlin paid a boy at least seven years her junior twice as much as he did her for the same jobs. Then, when Gabrielle questioned the discrepancy, the old farmer told her that men just naturally worked harder at such jobs and deserved more coin.

She was ashamed of herself after the fact, but the apostate punched the old man in the nose and walked away from the only source of income she and her family had left. She shouldn't have done it, and she normally would have just let it go, but after the earlier events of the day, she just couldn't. The remainder of the afternoon and early evening, she spent at Raeanne's old cottage, wishing her friend was still around to comfort her. Now that she was finally home, all she really wanted to do was to fall into bed for the evening and pray to the Maker she was blessed with dreamless sleep. Endeavoring to find a way to garner a source of income would just have to wait, at least one more day.

Unfortunately, the dulcet tones of her brother's shouts and her mother's sobs began echoing in Gabrielle's ears before she was halfway down the path. By the time she actually reached the front door, she was ready to put a paralysis spell on both of them. It was always the same argument with those two lately. Carver wanted to join the army, and Mother refused to entertain the thought.

Not even bothering with using the handle, the apostate cast a Force Push spell on the door, breaking the jamb with a thundering crack in the process. When she tramped inside, the expressions on the faces of her family held both shock and fear. They stood there gaping at her for a long moment before Carver's countenance turned to anger.

"What in the bloody void did you do that for?" he hollered.

Gabrielle sneered at her brother. "Shut it," she seethed through gritted teeth. "If the Maker gave you one lick of sense in that big empty lump, you will not say another word. You are not going anywhere. Not tonight. Not ever."

Carver opened his mouth as if he were going to argue, but decided against it upon seeing his sister's eyes narrow, choosing to glare at her instead. Gabrielle pivoted on her heel before kicking over the dining chair standing in her way and stomped off to her room. She used another force push to slam the door behind her, belly flopped onto her bed, and began shrieking as loudly as she could into her feather pillow.

When she had screamed herself hoarse, Gabrielle finally turned her head to the side and caught a glimpse of her full pack lying on the floor. She closed her eyes for only a few seconds before she began wailing on her pillow with her balled right fist. Why didn't she leave when she had the chance? Why did she have to be solely responsible for the lives of her family? After all, they were all adults, and perfectly capable of making it on their own without her.

Her eyes fell upon Bethany's bed across the room, and all the fire and fight within her withered like fruit left too long on the vine. She stayed because she had to. Because she promised her father she would take care of her sister and keep her from the templars' grasp. She swore she would watch over her mother because, although Leandra was a peasant's wife, she was first and foremost a noble born lady and far too delicate in nature. Because she vowed to keep Carver from going astray and doing something foolhardy. Because she pledged to keep her family together no matter what.

How could her father have done that to her? Gabrielle was little more than a girl herself when Malcolm made her give that vow. How could he have asked such a thing of her? To devote her entire life to being caretaker to everyone else when she never had a chance to really live? It was unfair.

Gabriele flipped over onto her back and exhaled a long, slow breath. She supposed that's what life was. One big, gaping maw of unfairness. After all, no one ever lived the life they truly wanted, did they? At least no one of her station.

There was a quiet tapping at the bedroom door followed by a timid voice. "Gabs? Are you alright?"

"Yes, Bethie. I'm fine." Gabrielle answered.

Bethany was the one person in Gabrielle's life whom she could never be angry with. Her sister was the kindest, most loving, and gentlest person she ever knew. The girl never raised her voice, never spoke a harsh word, nor lost her temper. Even when Carver tortured her, as brothers have a tendency to do, she never fought back. As a child, when others fought in her presence, Bethany would cower in a corner sobbing and covering her ears. Even as a teenager, she would lock herself in another room or go outside to avoid being in the vicinity of confrontation. Because of Bethany's nature, Gabrielle knew her sister would never be able to survive in a Circle or on her own. And with their father gone, she also knew she was the only one who could ever protect Bethany.

"Would it be okay if I came in?" the younger woman asked.

"Of course," Gabrielle replied, her voice much gentler and even. The door slowly creaked open until she saw her sister's face peek tentatively into the room. "It's alright, Bethie," she assured the younger girl. "I'm all finished fighting with the Maker for now."

With her sister's reassurance, Bethany quickly entered the rest of the way and shut the door behind her before taking a seat on Gabrielle's bed. Worry marked the girl's delicate features as she spoke. "Carver said you got in a fight with some Grey Wardens this afternoon."

Gabrielle rolled her eyes. "Leave it to Carver to get things completely wrong."

Bethany grimaced. "So what did happen?"

Gabrielle took a deep breath before telling Bethany about her entire, Maker-forsaken day. She told her sister about the rude customers she had to deal with at the tavern, how Danal fired her, and how she punched Barlin in the nose. Gabrielle told Bethany everything, with the exception of how she almost ran away. She would never tell her sister about that. She didn't want Bethany to ever think she would just leave her.

"I'm sorry, Gabs," her sister said with a sympathetic frown.

"It's alright," the older apostate shrugged. "There was _one_ good thing about my day, but you have to swear you won't tell Mother."

The younger woman leaned in closer. "Of course not, Gabs. I would never," she promised. "What happened?"

Gabrielle took Bethany's hands into her own, and whispered, "Those Grey Wardens I told you Danal was worried about? I sort of met one of them…sort of." Her aquamarine eyes widened, twinkling with the memory of the man from the tavern. "Oh, Bethie, you should have seen him. He was the most handsome man I have ever even heard of. Dark blonde hair, hazel-green eyes, broad shoulders…He was perfect."

Her sister giggled, but a moment later, her smile turned into a pensive frown. "You were thinking about going with them, weren't you? The Grey Wardens, I mean."

Given Bethany's gentle demeanor, Gabrielle sometimes forgot how intelligent her younger sister was. "It was just a silly notion," the older girl confessed.

"It's not silly at all, Gabs." Bethany stared down at her bare feet for a long moment. "I wouldn't blame you if you did. I know how sad you are all the time…because you're stuck taking care of me and Carver and Mother. You should have a life of your own."

Gabrielle took her sister's face in her hands and turned it toward her own. Bethany's cheeks were glistening in the candlelight with fresh tears. "Bethany…I would never leave you. Never. You're my baby sister, and…"

Bethany shook her head and sniffled. "You shouldn't have to take care of me. It isn't as if I'm an infant." She sighed. "If only I weren't so useless. Then you wouldn't have to worry about me so."

Gabrielle hugged her sister's head to her shoulder, just above her heart. "Don't say that Bethie. You're not useless at all. You're the only one around this stinking village who understands me. The only one I can talk to. You're my best friend."

Bethany peered up at her sister, her chocolate brown eyes sparkling from her tears. "I'm your best friend?" she asked with surprise. "But, Raeanne…"

"Raeanne's gone, sweetie," Gabrielle reminded her. "Besides, you've always been my _best_ friend. Ever since you were old enough to talk. And now that Raeanne's gone, you're my only friend," Bethany's lip jutted out with a pout, prompting her older sister to hug her closer. "That isn't a bad thing sister…trust me."

The younger woman smiled up at her. "And I'm not a burden?"

"Of course not," Gabrielle affirmed. "And I'll tell you another thing. If I _were_ to decide to leave, I would take you with me."

Bethany's eyes lit up. "I know, we could be Grey Wardens together. You could do the fighting and I could heal anyone who gets injured." She hopped up onto her feet and began jumping, pulling at Gabrielle's hands to urge her older sister to join just as she had when they were children. "And…and then that handsome Grey Warden would fall in love with you…and then you'd get married." Bethany giggled.

As much as she knew it was all pretend and could never happen, Gabrielle couldn't help but be cheered by her sister's optimism and enthusiasm. And so, she joined in the game of make believe just as she had done hundreds of times over the years.

"Yes," she agreed. "And we could travel all over Thedas, protecting everyone from the Blight. And then you would meet a dashing Warden who would be completely crazy about you. With black hair…"

Bethany scowled. "Ew, no." She then bit her lip like an excited child before continuing. "He'd be blonde. His hair would be long, and blonde and flowing down his back. And his shoulders…they would be wide, with big, muscular arms to keep me warm every night for the rest of my life."

Gabrielle threw her feet out in front of her causing her bottom to land on the mattress with a bounce before flopping onto her back, nearly completely out of breath from exertion. "That's how the Grey Warden in the tavern was. No long hair…but big and muscular." Gabrielle's body tingled from the image of him. "He was absolutely…beautiful."

Bethany, collapsed onto the bed next to her sister before rolling onto her right side and resting her cheek upon her hand. "Do you think you'll dream of him tonight?"

Gabrielle beamed. "I hope so. He would definitely make for a lovely dream." Bethany's face turned somber as she began chewing her lower lip with worry. "Is something wrong?" the older girl questioned.

"No," Bethany lied. "Well…it's just that…all this talk of darkspawn…and Mother and Carver fighting most of the night…"

"Do you want to sleep in my bed tonight?"

"Would you mind too terribly much?"

Gabrielle put her head on her pillow and scooted her body over to make room for her sister. "Just promise me you won't kick me off the bed again, okay?"

Bethany chuckled. "I'll try, but if I have a dream about chasing after my own dashing Warden, it's in the Maker's hands."

* * *

After speaking briefly with Morrigan and getting absolutely nowhere with Sten, Solona settled down next to Leliana in front of the fire. The redhead was humming to herself as she moved the kindling around with a long, sharpened stick. After a few moments, she finally turned her attention to the Warden at her side.

"The Qunari is being less than cooperative, I see," she observed.

Solona shrugged. "At least I got a name, sort of. His title anyway." The mage puffed out her chest and feigned a serious and dark expression. " _'I am Sten of the Beresaad. The vanguard of the Qunari people_.'" Her shoulders slumped. "And that's pretty much all he would say. Well, that, and bitching about us stopping to make camp for the night."

Leliana chuckled. "That is more than Revered Mother Ivy ever got from him."

"Then that's something, I suppose," the mage acknowledged. She creased her brow and regarded the redheaded woman through constricted lids. "Surely you know why he was locked in that cage."

Her new companion nodded with a grimace. "I do," she replied. "I never agreed with that decision, but being a lay sister, I had very little choice or say in the matter."

Solona could already tell the redhead's answer would do nothing to raise her opinion of the Chantry. Most members of the religion were hateful and spiteful bigots who despised anything they didn't understand. The only thing most of them were good for was spreading falsehoods and dissension.

"I will refrain from blaming you personally, then," the mage assured her.

Leliana exhaled a long sigh. "He was brought to Lothering in that cage on the back of a wagon from the docks of Lake Calenhad. The templars who found him there said he was unconscious and surrounded by dead darkspawn and a handful of his own people who had apparently perished in the battle."

"Did he wake up and attack the templars?" Solona inquired.

"No," the redhead answered in a flat tone. "One of the templars who escorted him to the village said he was still blacked out when they piled him in the cage. It took six of them to move him onto the wagon."

"So they caged him for killing darkspawn," the mage huffed.

"The official story was that he went mad and killed his brothers in arms," Leliana explained with an air of disgust. "He was tried by Mother Ivy without saying a word in his defense. She claimed his silence was an admission of guilt."

Solona rolled her eyes. "The Chantry will come up with any excuse to lock away anyone whom they deem dangerous because they don't understand them. That poor man was a victim of circumstance by being in the wrong place at the wrong time." She waggled her head. "Now that I know, I will attempt to speak to him tomorrow. Perhaps he and I can come to an understanding since we have something in common."

"And what is that?" the other woman queried with mild curiosity.

"We were both locked away for the crime of simply existing," the mage replied.

After a few minutes, Leliana jostled Solona's arm with her elbow. She tilted her head in Alistair's direction and displayed a sly grin. "He _is_ a handsome one."

She peered over at the warrior who was busy sharpening his blade with a whetstone on the other side of the firepit. Though Solona fully agreed with the woman's statement, she had no intention of admitting it. Her fellow Warden was simply not interested her in that way, and it would do no good for Leliana to try and go playing matchmaker, if she were so inclined. He was reserved for other men, not the likes of her. Then again, there was the odd reaction he had to that poor, hapless barmaid. The sparkle in his hazel eyes as he stared at her with his most captivating grin. Perhaps he was interested in women, after all.

 _She did look a bit like a boy, though._

That would certainly explain any attraction he might have to the girl. Maybe his orientation included interest in both sexes, provided the female was masculine enough. Yes, that had to be it. Besides, it was possible he found no interest in the barmaid at all. Alistair was often given to such expressions when he regarded others. Perhaps Solona mistook kindness for flirtation, just as she did when she herself was on the receiving end of that affect.

The mage rendered a nonchalant shrug. "I suppose," she ceded with a measure of contrived indifference.

At that moment, Alistair glanced up from his task and locked eyes with hers. His lips curled into a boyish smirk which sent Solona's heart racing. Her hand slid to the pendant tucked beneath the front of her tunic. She ran the flat of her thumb over the tiny sword and flames, and her mind began to calm. She returned her attention to the woman at her side.

"So," she began, "You've told me about Sten, but I still know precious little about you. You are obviously more than a simple Chantry sister."

"You are very astute, Warden," the redhead observed. "But I think I have proven myself trustworthy enough to remain in your company without answering such personal questions just yet. A good player never reveals her hand on the first round, after all."

"True," the mage concurred. "Very well, I will leave it alone…for this evening, anyway. Procuring those horses is payment enough for you to keep your secrets for at least one night. I must say, I was highly impressed with your negotiation skills."

A small chuckle emanated from the other woman's lips. "I thought you said you were allowing me to keep my secrets for tonight. You possess some skills of your own, my dear."

Solona presented her companion with a cunning smirk. "I had to try, didn't I?"

"I would have expected no less," Leliana proclaimed before shifting her bottom on the log. "It's a shame Alistair didn't go with us, though."

The mage arched a brow. "Oh? And why is that?"

"I think he should have liked to have seen Gabrielle again," she said. "He asked a lot of questions about her while you were gone to the privy."

"The barmaid?" Solona questioned.

"Yes," the other woman replied. "She was working inside the stable while I bartered with the old farmer."


	23. Nightmares Of The Past

**A/N:** ** _I believe there are some events that are so evil it affects the entire world all at once. The murder of a child can weaken the veil and cause anyone in that area to feel a sense of dread or have bad dreams. With the darkspawn attacking Lothering and children being slaughtered at the Circle, I believe everyone in Ferelden felt it in one way or another. What follows are the dreams of the heroes that night. Dreams in which they relived one definitive moment in their lives._**

* * *

 _Thin fingers trembled as they unfolded the piece of parchment. The missive had been unsealed before the boy even touched it. The outside of the letter bore only three words, "Haydn Wilhelm Steiber"._

 _"I just thought you might want to know. Your mam is dead. Killed herself. You tried killing her when you were born and I guess you finally did it. Hope you're proud of yourself princess."_

 _Salty tears began to sting the boy's eyes. Mam was dead. She was dead and it was his fault._

 _He tried to run. Tried to save her. He made it all the way across the lake, but the templars were already waiting on the other side to drag him back to the tower._

 _He read the cruel words of his pap again. The ink was faded, which said the letter was old. How long had the templars kept it in their possession?_

 _The boy looked up and peered at the man in white and red armor through his long curtain of thick blonde curls, still damp from his swim. There was no escape. Nothing to return home to anymore._

 _"Well?" the man goaded. "What do you have to say now, boy?"_

 _The adolescent young man turned his face to the wall. His shoulders shook with his sobs. Tears streamed down his cheeks, creating tracks in the thick dirt put there when the templars ground his face into the muddy bank of the lake._

 _He could almost hear the smirk on the man's face as he said, "Oh, that's right. You're a mute."_

 _Cold calloused fingers touched the boy's chin as his face was jerked forward to look into the man's eyes of steel. The templar's lids constricted as he regarded the boy with a sneer._

 _"Only, I don't think you are dumb. I think you are simply rebellious. Mark my words, boy. I will personally ensure that you cow to the templar's will."_

 _The Maker showed kindness in the form of a knock on the door. An old man wearing enchanter's robes with long, tousled grey hair and a full beard entered the room. His eyes were full of pity as he stared down at the boy. The boy hated that look._

 _"I apologize for the interruption, Greagoir," the old enchanter said. "But you are needed downstairs."_

 _The templar straightened his back and glowered at the other man. "I am interrogating this mage. Whatever it is can wait, Irving."_

 _The older man shrugged. "I believe the apprentice's library has caught fire again. Your men seem to be having the most difficult time putting it out. But…if you wish for me to inform them that you are too busy…"_

 _"Fine!" the templar growled. He snatched the parchment from the boy's hand then spun on his heel before turning to the other man. "If I find that you had anything to do with this, Irving…"_

 _The enchanter folded his arms over this chest and rocked from heel to toe. "Now, Greagoir, Why in the Maker's name would I set fire to the library?"_

 _The templar stomped out of the room. The boy was alone with the old enchanter. He seemed kind enough, but the boy didn't trust any man. His pap had been kind at times. His kindness always led to the hayloft in the barn. There he would profess his love for the boy in terrible, unspeakable ways._

 _"You've had a very trying day, haven't you son?" the old man asked._

 _The boy hated that word. Hated what it meant. His body began to tremble. He retreated as far back as he could, awaiting the touch of the man and the shame he knew that would follow._

 _"There is no need to be frightened," the enchanter said. "I won't hurt you. I'm here to help."_

 _The boy shook his head and drew his long legs up to his chest. He wrapped his skinny arms around them, attempting to create his own protective cocoon. The old man sat down next to him. He didn't touch the boy. He just sat._

 _"I am sorry about your mother," the enchanter told him. "I never meant for you to find out what happened to her. You were in enough misery without that being added to it."_

 _There was genuine concern in his tone. The boy would still not let down his guard. He had seen too much. Held too many dark secrets in his head. Secrets he would never tell. He snatched the small embroidered pillow that lay next to him and tucked it between his thighs and his chest. It was his pillow. She made it for him. He pressed his brow into his knees._

 _"It was my fault," the boy whispered._

 _"No," the man disagreed._

 _He placed his hand on the boy's shoulder. The boy recoiled at the touch. The man drew back again._

 _"It wasn't your fault, Haydn," he said._

 _The boy hated that name. It was the name given to him by his father. He didn't want to be Haydn. Not anymore. Not ever again._

 _"Please don't call me that."_

 _"What? The old man asked. "Haydn?"_

 _The boy did not speak his thoughts. He simply bobbed his head against his bony knees._

 _"Well then, what would you rather your name be?"_ _the enchanter inquired._

 _The boy shrugged. He didn't know. Didn't really care._

 _"I've heard the others call you the Ander," the old man observed. "Why not use that? You can call yourself Anders."_

 _The boy shrugged again. It was as good a name as any. The Ander. It made him sound more a thing than a person. That's what he really was, after all. A thing. That's what Pap said._

 _"Well, it's entirely up to you," the enchanter said as he rose to his feet._

 _The boy lifted his head as the old man walked to the door. The man stopped, but did not turn. His final words were simple, but would become a defining moment in the boy's life._

 _"Just let me know what you decide…Anders."_

* * *

 _The apprentice walked down the corridor of the senior enchanters' floor in search of anyone who might be able to help her. She had her suspicions about what was ailing her. Suspicions she would never reveal to anyone. Especially him._

 _Her stomach churned. It did that quite often lately. At that moment, she wasn't sure if it was from her undiagnosed malady or from panic. But who would she ask for help? He was the best healer she knew. She wouldn't ask him. If her fears were true, he could never find out._

 _An older woman with silver hair pulled back in a tight bun approached her. The apprentice groaned. She wouldn't ask that enchanter. She would go straight to him. If he ever returned. He always returned._

 _The old woman smiled. The gesture was fake. There was no love lost between the two women._

 _"Solona, my dear," she greeted. "The library is at the other side of the rotunda."_

 _The enchanter was suspicious already. The apprentice took a step back. She couldn't allow the old woman close enough to diagnose her. Just in case. Her stomach lurched and she nearly vomited. She gulped back the bile._

 _"Yes, I know Senior Enchanter," the apprentice said._

 _The old woman's brow furrowed. She knew. Somehow she knew. But how could she? The apprentice took a deep breath. She had to calm down._

 _"He's not here," the enchanter informed her._

 _The old woman thought she was looking for him. He was the last person she wanted to see at that moment. The enchanter was next on that list._

 _"I'm not looking for him," the younger woman told her. "I'm looking for…someone else. Besides, he escaped again, or don't you recall that fact?"_

 _The old woman's lids constricted. A sly grin traced the corners of her wrinkled lips. Dear Maker. He's back. The girl's stomach heaved. Bile burned the back of her throat. The taste on her tongue made it harder to hold in. She swallowed it down and scowled._

 _"Actually, the templars brought him in just an hour ago," the enchanter said. "Poor man looked half-starved. He's in Irving's office awaiting his punishment."_

 _The young woman exhaled a resonant sigh. There was genuine concern in the old woman's eyes. She was in love with him too. He would never return the sentiment. Both women knew that._

 _"Perhaps I will speak to him later then," the apprentice told her._

 _The young woman took a step to the side. She didn't want to talk about it anymore. He broke her heart when he left. Again. Just the way he always did. Why did she love him so? Why couldn't she stop?_

 _The enchanter put a hand to the apprentice's shoulder. The girl stopped in her tracks. The old woman's eyes went wide. She knew. The apprentice's worst fear was confirmed. How could she have been so stupid? So careless?_

 _"Follow me," the enchanter ordered._

 _She was angry. More angry than the apprentice had ever seen her. The old woman turned and marched through the nearest door. She walked straight to a cabinet near the closest bed and jerked the doors open. Seconds later she shoved a vial of inky liquid into the apprentice's chest._

 _"Take that," she demanded. "Now."_

 _The apprentice stared at the tiny bottle. It was for the best. He wouldn't care anyway. No one but her would care. The child would be ripped from her arms upon its birth. It was for the best._

* * *

 _The stable boy was awoken by the sound of a melodic giggle from somewhere beneath his loft. He opened one eye and beheld the darkness around him. It was still night. Alistair turned his head and peered out the window above his bed. The castle was dark. Surely everyone but a handful of guards was sleeping._

 _It was probably just a dream._

 _Another giggle followed by the hushed whispers of a man. The boy just wanted to sleep. Who in the Maker's name was up at this hour anyway? Probably one of the guards having a secret tryst with a servant. The stable was a popular place for such rendezvous._

 _Alistair covered his ears with his hands. He didn't want to listen to the moans and groans tonight. He just wanted to sleep. The nobles would begin arriving in the morning. And then, his father. The boy hoped he wouldn't have to meet with his father again. The last time the man ruffled his hair and remarked on how scrawny he was._

 _Another giggle. Louder this time._

 _"Shh," a man's voice hissed. "Someone might hear."_

 _Alistair recognized that voice. It was hard to tell, though. The boy's curiosity got the better of him. He rolled off his pile of straw so he could crawl to the edge of the loft._

 _He looked down below and saw a man and a woman. It was dark and hard to make out their faces. The woman wore pink silk that shimmered in the moonlit shadows. She was definitely a noble._

 _"I don't care," the woman said. "I will die if you don't take me soon."_

 _Her Orlesian accent was thick. There was no doubt in Alistair's mind. It was the arl's much younger wife. But who was the man?_

 _"Have you told him?" the man asked. "About the baby, I mean?"_

 _"Not yet," she replied. "How I wish I could tell everyone he is yours."_

 _A baby. The arlessa was having a baby. It wasn't her husband's child._

 _"No, Isolde," the man refused. "My brother must never find out."_

 _The stable boy gasped. He should have known. He had caught the two together years before as they writhed together on the floor of the stable like animals in heat._

 _"What was that?" the woman hissed. "I thought I heard something."_

 _Alistair scrambled back toward the pile of hay that was his bed. He closed his eyes, pretending to sleep. Someone grabbed his arm and shook him. He opened his lids. The angry blue eyes of the arlessa stared into his._

 _"What did you hear?" she demanded._

 _"N…nothing," the boy stammered his lie._

 _Frigid fingers twisted into the boy's filthy hair. The hand jerked his head back. He thought his neck might break._

 _"If you breathe a word of this to anyone, you vile little mongrel," she threatened through gritted teeth. "I will cut out your tongue and feed it to the dogs. I don't care who your father is."_

 _Tears born of pain and fear streamed down the boy's grubby cheeks. She was hurting him. It wasn't the first time. She liked to hurt him. She liked it when Kenton hurt him. Her hatred was apparent. He didn't know why._

 _"Sweetheart, he's just a boy."_

 _The man's voice was gentle. Much kinder than hers. She whipped Alistair's head back and forth. She was angry. Angrier than the stable boy had ever seen her._

 _"He will tell," she seethed. "He will tell and I will lose everything."_

 _The man placed a hand on her shoulder. Her grip on Alistair's hair didn't relax. Deep lines appeared in her brow as she regarded the man kneeling next to her._

 _"Perhaps you can convince Eamon to send him away," he proffered. "Lock him up in a monastery. Then we could both write to the revered mother and the Grand Cleric and tell them he's troubled. That he likes to make up stories that cause problems for the family."_

 _The arlessa's lids narrowed in thought. "It could work," she agreed. "As soon as the king departs Redcliffe, so will his little mongrel."_

* * *

 _"Again," the man's voice hissed._

 _The word entered the little girl's ears and sent a cold chill down her spine. He sounded like a snake. Tears flooded her lapis eyes. She looked up at him, silently begging him to let her stop._

 _The large man glowered down at her. His thick dark brows furrowed together with anger and impatience. Would he strike her again?_

 _The girl's face still stung from the last time the palm of his large hand collided with her delicate skin. How many times would he make her do this? How many corpses did he expect her to raise?_

 _She wanted to go home. She wanted her father. He would be waiting for her. How many days had she been trapped in the catacombs with her master? How long would he keep her there? Would she ever be allowed to leave?_

 _"Master Vestalus," she pleaded. "I can't. I'm tired."_

 _"Focus, Miriana!" he barked as he raised his hand to hit her again._

 _"Please, please don't," she begged. "I'll try. I promise."_

 _"You will not try," he countered. "You will do it. I know you are capable of more."_

 _The girl's entire body trembled. She raised small, shivering hands and closed her eyes. She called the wisps. She could feel the heat of their tiny lights surround her. She spoke to them, in her head. They whisked away in reply. She could feel them near._

 _She turned her palms to the sky. The sound of rattling bones echoed throughout the chamber. It was so loud. Too loud. She wanted to cover her ears, but if she did, the spell would be broken._

 _Her mana was getting low. She could feel it. Perhaps she would faint before her master could pour more potions down her throat. Maybe she would die. Maybe the void would be better. It had to be better than this place. The smells. The sounds. The heavy air full of must and rot._

 _The girl wiggled her fingers. The resonance of bones and decaying flesh clacked and slapped out a strange rhythm as the child bade the dead to dance. Her master chuckled, delighted by the spectacle. Maybe it was enough. Hopefully it was enough._

 _The sound of fingers snapped together. She dropped her to her knees. There was a loud crack upon impact. Her small bones felt as if they had been crushed under her own weight._

 _"Heal them," the man commanded. "Use the spirits power. Not your own mana."_

 _A wicked and vile voice whispered in her ear. It had been whispering for days._

 _"I can help you," it murmured. "I can make it all go away. I can make him go away. One word. One tiny word, and it will all be over."_

 _"No," another voice said. It was clearer. Louder than the first. "Be gone creature of desire. This one is under my protection. You will not have her. You will not harm her."_

 _The girl's knees tingled as white magic flowed through them. It was the spirit. The one who spoke to her in her dreams of faraway places. The silver lady in a white dress._

 _The little girl smiled. "Thank you, Faith," she uttered beneath her breath._

* * *

 _It was all arranged. By the end of the week, Yavana's Call would be leaving Minrathous with a new captain. The pirate would miss his ship, of course, but he would be gaining a wife, a child. He would not abandon his son or his daughter the way his father had. The child would know love, from both of its parents._

 _It was nearly sunset. Maggie should have been there by now. The pirate paced back and forth, the tails of his long leather duster flapping in the early winter breeze. There was no chill in the air. Tevinter was warm year round._

 _Perhaps he could convince Eleanor and Bryce to visit. Maybe even attend the wedding. Maggie Hawke. It had a nice ring to it. They would love her. Just as he did. She was a good woman._

 _Where is she?_

 _He continued to pace as worry set in. No. She would be there. She would come. Maggie was a woman of her word. She never lied to anyone, least of all him._

 _She had been so excited when she told him about the baby. She suggested they get married. That day. Right then and there. He wanted to do it right. Her parents hated him, but she would have the wedding of her dreams, even if he had to pay for it himself._

 _He spun on the ball of his foot to make another round. Red hair shone in the distance at the other end of the dock. The pirate had butterflies in his stomach. Actual butterflies. He never knew being in love could feel so exhilarating._

 _He grinned at her. She greeted the gesture with a morose frown. Something was wrong. So very wrong._

 _He quickened his pace toward her. The movement of her feet slowed. When they finally met in the middle of the dock, he embraced her. Her body stiffened under his touch. She backed away. Her emerald eyes were glistening with fresh tears._

 _"Is something wrong, love?" he asked._

 _She stared at the ground. His guts tied in knots. She sighed loudly as she placed the bracelet he bought for her into his hand._

 _"Mother and father told me not to come," she explained. "But I thought you deserved better than that. I am getting married. To a magister. At the end of next week."_

 _He felt his stomach drop. His head felt light. He wondered if he would faint. He swallowed back the lump in his throat as he tried to contain his tears._

 _"He's a good man," she continued. "A healer. It's a good match as far as the Magisterium is concerned."_

 _The pirate thought to ask the man's name. He could slit the man's throat. Be in and out of the magister's house before anyone knew he was there. He stared down at Maggie. She continued to study his feet._

 _"What about the baby?" he asked._

 _His voice was barely a whisper. She didn't answer. Did she hear his question? There was another sigh as she turned away from him._

 _"I took a potion," she said. "There is no more baby."_

 _How could she do that? He grabbed her arm. She wrested it away from his grasp._

 _"I'm sorry," she whispered._

 _Those were her final words. She walked away. He thought to run after her. To beg her to go with him. He didn't. He just stood there as she disappeared into the buildings that lined the harbor. She was gone. His child was gone._

 _Isabela. He needed Isabela. She had broken his heart in his youth. She had been his first love. Although those feelings were never returned, at least he knew where he stood with his fellow pirate._

 _He would return to his ship. He would die on that ship. Love was a lie born of the needs of fools and simpletons who never tasted freedom. The pirate captain would never be such a fool again._


	24. Close Calls

_The young woman ran as fast as her short legs could carry her. It was getting harder to breathe, but she couldn't stop. Couldn't let up, not even for a moment. She already delayed too long._

 _Maker, please let him be alright._

 _Two weeks. That was all it took. For two weeks the young woman watched the strongest man in the world wither away. How could he have gotten so sick so quickly? He was the best healer she ever knew. The best she had heard of. He was dying. He mixed potion after potion. They didn't help. Nothing did. They just made it worse._

 _He had a cough the day he returned from the Wilds. He had gone to a Chasind village that was plagued with influenza. The villagers got better. He got worse._

 _Her mother wanted to go to the physician. Her father refused. He called the man a charlatan. A quacksalver. Her father couldn't get out of bed that morning. He could barely speak. He finally agreed to calling on the physician. Her mother sent the young woman to fetch him. She was the oldest. It was her responsibility._

 _The physician wouldn't come. He made her wait outside. It felt like an eternity. She wondered if he was going to return. When he opened the door he shoved a vial of green liquid into her chest._

 _"Tell your mother to give him this potion. If it doesn't help, come back tomorrow and we'll try a different one."_

 _He didn't care. He slammed the door in her face. She kept knocking. He didn't answer. She tried the handle. The door was locked._

 _She screamed at the door. Kicked it so hard she thought she may have broken her foot. It did no good. He ignored everything._

 _The door to her home was in reach. She turned the handle and sprinted inside. Through the kitchen and to the left down a narrow hallway. The door at the end was open._

 _The young woman's mother lay next to her father. His face was ghostly white, mottled with grey. His lips were blue. The girl's mother was sobbing into his chest. He was gone. She was too late. She didn't even get the chance to say goodbye._

 _"What took you so long?" her mother asked._

 _She was angry. The girl couldn't form the words to explain. What would she have said? There was no good explanation. No excuse for her delay._

 _She had stopped to talk to a young man. He wasn't a bad looking sort. He smiled at her. Told her he wished to call on her soon. No boy had ever said those words to her before. It was only for a few minutes. She should have kept running._

 _"This is your fault, Gabrielle" her mother wailed. "Where were you? Why weren't you here? You should have been here. He's dead…Your father is dead because you were too busy gallivanting around the village."_

 _The mother scanned the room behind her daughter. Her eyes were red and puffy. She shook her head._

 _"And you didn't even bring the physician?"_

 _Tears streamed down the young woman's cheeks. Her hand was trembling. The vial in her fingers quaked. She remarked at the paleness of the color. Her father's potions were always much darker._

 _She stepped closer to the bed. Her mother glared at her. There was fury in her grey eyes. Hatred. The young woman held out the tiny bottle._

 _"He…he wouldn't come. He gave me…he gave me this."_

 _The mother_ _snatched the vial from her daughter's hand. She hurled it across the room. The bottle hit the wall and shattered. Tiny shards of glass littered the floor. Pale green liquid stained the ecru wall._

 _The young woman stood there. She didn't know what to do. Her father was dead. It was all her fault._

 _"Get out of my sight!" her mother screeched._

 _The older woman threw herself onto her husband's lifeless form. The young woman didn't argue. How could she? Her mother was devastated. It was all her fault._

 _The young woman's head drooped in shame and sorrow. She wondered if her sister and brother were aware. She had to tell them. She had to be there for them. It was her job to take care of them. Her father was gone. They were her responsibility now. Her sole responsibility. She made him a promise. She intended to keep it._

 _She turned to find her siblings. The room began to spin. Thick, black smoke curled around her. She couldn't see. Couldn't hear. But dear Maker, the smell. The putrid mixture of brimstone and rot permeated the air. She gagged._

 _The silence was split by the sound of a fist pounding on wood. The dark fog cleared to reveal a door. Her front door. She jerked it open. She didn't even think to check who or what was on the other side. It was him. The handsome Grey Warden. His face was filled with worry._

 _"The darkspawn are on their way," he told her._

 _His voice was calm. An eerie inflection considering his warning. His tone didn't match his expression._

 _"You must get out of Lothering," he warned._

 _Panic. That was the young woman's immediate reaction. She had to save her family. She ran to her mother's room. Her father was gone. Her mother lay on the floor. Her grey eyes were silver. The black of her pupils were gone. Her skin was pale. Lifeless. There was an odd pattern on her throat as if someone slit it and stitched it back together._

 _The young woman dropped to her knees. She gathered her mother in her arms. She couldn't catch her breath past her tears._

 _"Leave her," the Warden said._

 _His voice was still calm. Too calm. He tugged at the young woman's sleeve, urging her to rise. How could she? She had to. She had to do her job. Her duty._

 _Carver and Bethany. Perhaps they still lived. She had to find them. To save them._

 _She moved to Carver's room. His body lay bleeding. His limbs positioned in odd angles. His legs and chest were wider but thinner. Crushed under a tremendous weight. But how?_

 _Fresh tears began to spill. They washed away the ones she shed for her mother. The Warden was at her side again. His brow creased with regret. With sorrow._

 _"You need to find your sister and leave," he reminded her. "They are coming."_

 _The young woman picked up her feet. They wouldn't move. They were stuck to the floor. She struggled with all her might. It was a fruitless endeavor. She wailed with anger. With frustration._

 _She looked down at her feet. Her old brown boots were gone. Replaced by the slippers of a much younger girl. She recognized them. She hadn't seen those shoes since her family left Redcliffe when she was thirteen._

 _She peered up to regard the man at her side. To beg him for help. The Grey Warden was gone. Her father towered over her. His face was stern. Hard._

 _"Gabrielle Emily Hawke!" he bellowed. His voice was deep. Resonating. "Pull yourself together! Go get your sister. Do your job."_

 _The young woman pulled her feet out of the shoes she wore as a girl. She struggled against an unseen weight that tried to push her back. Unseen hands that tried to pull her down. She propelled herself to move. Her determination driving her ponderous steps. An eternity passed as she progressed toward that final door._

 _She reached for the handle. Fear of the unknown gripped her. Paralyzed her. She could feel her father's green-blue eyes boring a hole in her back. She had to do it. She had to press on. On the other side she heard her sister's frantic whispers._

 _"Gabs…Gabs…Gabby!"_

 _Bethany needed her. The young woman had to save her sister. She turned the knob._

* * *

Gabrielle's bolted upright in her bed. Bethany lay next to her, gripping her arm so tightly the girl's nails were digging into her older sister's skin. The younger woman's brown eyes were wide with horror.

"Something's wrong," Bethany whispered.

Gabrielle knew exactly what her sister meant. The dream she had was a warning that the darkspawn were on their way. She could feel it to her very core.

"Hurry up and get dressed then grab as many healing and lyrium potions as you can," she ordered as she pulled her boots on. "And don't forget your staff."

Bethany nodded her understanding and began scrambling to do as her sister told her. In the meantime, Gabrielle retrieved her own wooden stave from under the bed, grabbed her pack from the floor near her bed, and ran from the room. She went to her mother's door first and banged the heel of her palm on the wooden surface.

"Mother!" she yelled. "Mother! Get up."

As soon as she saw the glow of candlelight beneath Leandra's door, Gabrielle headed to Carver's room. Knowing her brother would ignore her if she pounded on his door, and knowing it would be locked, she used a Force Push spell to blast her way in. The noise woke Carver so abruptly he fell onto the floor next to his bed in a heap. When he saw his older sister standing there, he tightened the blanket he was tangled in around his waist to cover his nudity.

"What the fuck?" he screeched.

"Get up!" she hollered. "Get your shit together. We have to leave. Now!"

"Who do you think you are barging into my room?"

Gabrielle glowered at her brother. "Get your ass up, get dressed, throw your shit in your pack and get into the kitchen. You have five minutes, or so help the Maker, I will drag your naked ass out of this house and kick it all the way out of the village."

Carver returned his sister's murderous glare with one of his own. "Not until you tell me what's going on."

Gabrielle took a deep breath, then let it out slowly through gritted teeth. "You smell that?" she asked. "That's the smell of the village burning to the ground. Do you know what caused it?"

Her brother's brow creased with concern before he quietly uttered, "Darkspawn."

While the others were getting their things ready, Gabrielle ran to the kitchen. Someone had attempted to close the broken front door, but it still remained slightly ajar. The young mage scanned the room for something to use to impede intruders from easily invading their home and spied the heavy dish cabinet nearby. Using force magic to aid her own muscles, Gabrielle inched the heavy piece of furniture across the floor to the entrance and hoped it would be enough to allow the family time to escape.

She then went to the kitchen window, moved the curtain aside just enough to see and took a peek outside. The sight nearly took her breath. Fires lit the night sky as the shadowy forms of countless creatures skulked about around them. Gabrielle quickly closed the curtain and pressed her back to the wall. She shut her eyes in an effort to calm herself and hold back the panic building within her chest. She nearly jumped from her skin when she heard Bethany's voice.

"How close are they?"

The older apostate gulped back a ball of vomit that had risen into her throat. "We're going to have to go out one of the back windows if we're to have any chance of escape."

"Go. I'll seal the door with magic," Bethany offered. "Maybe it will buy us a little extra time.

"Good thinking, Bethie" Gabrielle said as she skirted past her sister, headed to their room. "Don't be too long."

"It'll only take a minute," Bethany called after her.

When she reached their bedroom, the apostate pushed her bed to the window, blew out the candle on the nightstand and opened the shutters. By the time she dropped the packs outside, Bethany had joined the rest of the family. Gabrielle helped her sister clamber through the opening, but as soon as Bethany's feet touched the ground, a resounding crash echoed throughout the small cottage alerting the family that someone or something was trying to break through Bethany's seal on the front door.

Leandra was nearly halfway out the window, when she dropped back in onto the bed. "I have to get it," she cried in a panic. "I can't leave it behind."

Gabrielle shook her head as she held her mother by the shoulders. "Whatever it is, Mother, just leave it. We have to go."

Leandra pushed her daughter away. "No! I have to get it. I will die before I leave your father's staff behind for those filthy beasts."

The apostate knew exactly which stave her mother meant, and she knew that Leandra would never make it out if she went to retrieve it herself.

"Carver," she ordered, "Get Mother out. Then you go. Head toward the bridge. If I'm not there in ten minutes, start making your way north. Don't stop for any reason. Keep going until sunrise, then find somewhere safe to hide."

She was relieved when, for once, Carver didn't argue with her, choosing instead to respond with, "Yes, Sister," before guiding Leandra back to the window.

Gabrielle raced to her mother's room with the incessant sound of rattling dishes and the wood of the front door cracking ringing in her ears. She slid under Leandra's bed and grabbed the long, dust laden, wooden box hiding there. The container was too big and bulky to carry, but the hasp was locked. She frantically searched her mother's bedside table for the key for several minutes without luck, but the crashing of the front door giving way and that of the cabinet toppling over made her give up her quest. She closed her eyes and unleashed a haphazard force blast at the box, praying it wouldn't damage the contents. The container flew across the room and hit the wall, splintering it into shards which scattered throughout the room and covered the velvet cloth enveloping the stave.

The apostate moved the cloth aside and seized the staff. She then clambered up onto the bed and forced the shutters of the window open. She threw the staff out first, then jumped toward the opening, but toppled over when something grabbed her by the leg. She rolled over and landed the boot of her free foot to the most grotesque face she had ever laid eyes upon.

It looked like a large man whose skin had all been peeled away to reveal the muscle beneath which had begun to rot. Its dead eyes were milky white like those of a corpse, and when it opened its wide mouth with a howl of pain, it displayed a full set of blackened, razor sharp teeth. Gabrielle hit the monster with a grease spell, followed by a flame blast lighting it ablaze as she scrambled to the window. As her feet touched down on the grass below, she threw a fireball into her mother's window before retrieving her father's staff. As she ran past the house, she continued to cast fire spells at it until the thatched roof finally caught. The roar of darkspawn reverberated through the air and the stench of acrid smoke filled the young apostate's lungs as she raced toward the bridge.

Once she was clear of the cottage, she stopped only long enough to remove her own staff from its sling on her back and replace it with her father's. As she ran from the chaos of the village and the path beyond, she had to fight her way through until, by the time she reached the bridge, her magic was all but spent. Her mana was low and it had weakened her tremendously. She only hoped her family hadn't left without her and that Bethany had found enough lyrium potions to sustain her until she had the chance to rest.

Fortunately, when she arrived at her destination, her mother and siblings were just getting ready to leave. Gabrielle fell to her knees, struggling to catch her breath. Within seconds, Bethany was at her side with two vials of thick blue liquid, their corks already pulled. Gabrielle sucked down the potions and immediately began to feel her mana return.

"Gabs!" Bethany gasped. "Your leg!"

Gabrielle inspected her lower limb and found blood pouring from a deep gash just above the line of her boot. In her haste to flee the village and the darkspawn, she hadn't even noticed. She had felt a slight sting as she ran, but now that she finally had a moment to relax, she was aware of the full impact of the damage. She sucked in a hard breath through gnashed teeth.

"That thing must have scratched me with its claws when it grabbed my leg."

"That thing?" Carver questioned, concern miring his lapis blue eyes. "You mean one of the darkspawn?"

"Yeah, it caught me when I was trying to climb out the window."

Her brother backed away. "You could be tainted. Only Grey Wardens are immune."

"Don't be so dramatic, Carver. I'm fine."

Bethany reached out to put her hand over her sister's wound.

"Don't touch her!" he cried. "You'll be tainted, too."

"Afraid you'll be left alone and actually have to work for a living?" Gabrielle retorted.

"I'll be fine, Carver" Bethany interceded as she put her finger's over the cut and closed her eyes.

Within moments, Gabrielle could feel her skin fusing back together and the pain in her leg subside. She put her hand over her sister's.

"Thanks, Bethie. I take it you didn't detect any taint?"

"No," replied the younger woman. "Your blood appears to be clean."

Gabrielle cockled her lips and raised a brow at her brother. "See. I told you I was fine."

He scowled. "Whatever. Can we go now before those monsters catch up to us?"

The apostate stood, brushed the pebbles and dirt from the seat and knees of her trousers, and gazed at the sun rising over the tops of the nearby hills. They couldn't go back to Lothering. The only thing they could do was push forward. She thought of the Grey Warden and wondered what he might have been doing at that moment. Then she surveyed her family. Where would they be if she had run away? Lost to the darkspawn no doubt. In her heart, she knew she made the right choice. They were her responsibility, and hers alone.

She pushed past her brother toward the hills and walked a few steps before stopping and turning her head. "You know," she said over her shoulder. "That may be the most sensible thing I've ever heard you say, Carver."

* * *

The sunlight trickling through the gaps in the heavy curtains hurt Garrett's eyes. The vision of the modest room around him was hazy as he attempted to see through the fog of too much rum and not enough food or decent sleep. He scraped his tongue across his top front teeth and grimaced at the taste. With the tips of his thumb and middle finger, he swiped across the corners of his mouth then sat up and put his feet to the floor.

The pirate reeled for just a moment as his brain tried to catch up with his body from the momentum of moving too quickly. His head was pounding. His entire body ached, and his stomach felt as if he had swallowed an acid flask. All he really wanted to do was to just lie back down and sleep for several more days, but his sense of duty as ship captain propelled him to rise. He had wallowed in misery for far too long. It was time to get back to the real world.

He had made several plans on what his next move would be while in his drunken stupor, many completely ridiculous, but a few sound. In the end, he decided his best course of action would be to take the remainder of the cargo the Call was hauling to Jader as he originally planned, then travel to Amaranthine to see if he could find that bastard, Howe. If he wasn't there, at least Garrett should be able to get a better idea of where the snake was holed up.

He didn't care if Howe was residing in the royal palace, the captain was going to track him down, capture him, then make him suffer. He would bleed him slowly. His death would come at an agonizing, torturous pace. Rendon Howe would share in Garrett's pain, and he would beg to be put out of his misery in the end. Even if it cost the pirate his life, it was worth it to watch Howe writhe, to hear him scream in torment.

Captain Hawke considered himself a bad pirate when he arrived in Highever a few days prior, but that wasn't always the case. There was a reason he was the most feared pirate to ever sail the Waking Sea. Upon taking over as captain of _Yavana's Call_ after Marko's retirement, he felt he had something to prove. He sank more ships and disposed of more rival captains in eight months than his predecessor had in five years.

That all changed upon his first visit to Highever as the Call's captain when Eleanor asked him what he had been doing, and he was too ashamed to tell her. After that, he made it a point to never take a life unless he felt it absolutely necessary. Fortunately, his past deeds and reputation afforded him that luxury most of the time, and he rarely had to engage anyone in a fight. Howe, on the other hand, would look into the eyes of the pirate Garrett once was. He would know the fear of every captain and ship's crewman Captain Hawke had ever killed, and then some.

After slowly rising from the bed, Garrett donned the clothes Martinez had sent over for him. When his belts and blades were all in place, he ambled over to the small table in the corner that held a stone ewer and basin. He poured the contents of the pitcher into the bowl then splashed his face with the cool water. It felt good on his burning skin and cleared his vision enough to truly perceive the results of his days' long drinking binge.

Bloodshot eyes stared back at him, the area around them red and swollen with dark circles in the hollows. In fact, his entire face was puffy. The normal dark scruff of his cheeks had turned into the shaggy beginnings of a full beard and his long, thick hair was a tangled mess.

The pirate rifled through the smaller package Martinez had dispatched with his clothes until he located a silver comb, a straight razor and a small pair of shears. He quickly worked through the snarls and knots in his mane then tied it back at the nape of his neck. He then grabbed a nearby bottle and, after taking a healthy swig for the mabari that bit him, doused the cutting tools in the remainder of the rum. Once the task of trimming the hair on his cheeks and jaw was complete, he retrieved a tiny, ornately etched jar fashioned from silver from the pouch at his waist. He unscrewed the leaf-shaped top to reveal a thin metal stick covered in black powder. With a steady hand, Garrett traced the lines of his upper and lower lids with the kohl, then took a step back to admire his handiwork.

 _Much better._

The pirate always maintained that he wore the kohl to protect his eyes from the harsh glare of the sun while at sea. It was something Marko taught him when he was a young boy. In truth, he simply liked the look of it and had worn the makeup for so long, he felt naked any time he went without it.

Garrett made one last check of the room and his ruined clothes piled in the floor and scowled. He hated leaving that coat behind. It was finally broken in just the way he liked it, but he knew neither the stench nor the memories of the tragedies that befell Castle Cousland could ever be laundered away. The only thing he was keeping from that night were his blades, his coin, and the rage and grief over the deaths of his adopted family.

As he turned the handle of the door, a gnawing pain in Garrett's gut nearly caused him to heave on the floor again. It had been over two days since he had eaten anything more than a few spoonsful of stew, and the notion of partaking of any of the concoctions Ramirez could come up with turned the captain's stomach even more. The Call's cook was a loyal man, but he never quite seemed to grasp the actual concept of food. If Garrett expected to keep anything more than the swallow of rum he just drank in his gut, he would need to order a meal from the tavern.

 _Ah well. What's another hour?_

* * *

The trip from Ostwick had been completely uneventful. The first few days after leaving the Circle were pleasant enough. Miriana got the chance to observe the countryside, something she hadn't been able to do in nearly ten years. She had forgotten how much she missed the feel of a cool breeze on her skin and the sound of rustling leaves as the wind shook the trees. She marveled at the light and the warmth of the afternoon sun and the brilliance of a million stars twinkling in the sky at night.

That all changed at the end of the third day. That's when the young mage found herself stuffed into the lower decks of a ship bound for Ferelden, forced to observe the evening sky through the rusty iron bars of the trap door over her head. It was a long journey, plagued by storms that pitched the ship every way imaginable but bottom side up.

The last squall they hit was so bad, in fact, that it finally forced the ship to dock in the port city of Highever, where the templars decided to take shelter for the night at an inn called _The Lucky Seagull._ The original plan of Miriana's escorts had been to sail to the small coastal town of West Hill, but after enduring such terrible storms, Lieutenant Kegan made the decision to travel the remainder of the trek to Kinloch Hold on horseback. As seasick as the young mage felt and as raw as her nerves were from the roars of the ocean and the sensation of cold water constantly assailing her skin, she was happy to be anywhere else.

As many times as she read _The Pirate Gerard,_ she never realized sailing could be such a traumatic experience. She found herself wishing many times on that trip that she had a dashing pirate with her to keep her distracted. The crew of _The Sea Rover_ had been a lot dirtier and less piratey than she imagined, and the captain was a very old man with a thick white beard who was missing most of his teeth. Perhaps Julia had been right all along. Gerard was only a character. No one like him really existed in the world.

That morning, Lieutenant Kegan and Ser Grenier woke the young mage just after sunrise to inform her they were going to the market for supplies with the warning that they had her phylactery if she attempted to escape. It was a useless threat. Miriana had no plans to escape. She had no reason or want to.

Unlike Julia, Miriana was relatively happy in the confines of the Circle. After her experiences with Master Vestalus and the Grand Necropolis, she didn't mind being shut away from the dangers of the outside world. She just didn't want to be in Ostwick anymore. She was actually excited by the prospect of going to a place where no one knew her and no one but the First Enchanter was aware of her background. Maybe she would finally even find male companionship for the first time in her life.

When the templars returned, they allowed Miriana to have a bath and ready herself for the trip. Her escorts didn't seem to be in any hurry to get on the road, and even suggested grabbing a bite to eat at the tavern downstairs before they left. Although the mage was anxious to see her new home, she didn't relish the thought of dining on nothing but travel rations for the next week or better.

After choosing the table nearest the bar, the templars took a seat on either side of Miriana with their backs to the serving area. The young woman was slightly perturbed when Kegan took the liberty of ordering fish stew for her. She hated fish, hated the taste of it, the smell of it, and even the sight of it. She wrinkled her nose at the bowl when the barmaid set it on the table in front of her. Ser Grenier sighed with exasperation when Miriana just pushed the chunks of fish around with her spoon.

"That's the only meal you'll be gettin' 'til we stop for the night, young lady," he warned. "I suggest ya eat it."

The mage screwed up her face with disgust and reached for a piece of bread that had been set out on the table instead. It contained a bit too much yeast for Miriana's personal tastes, but it was edible with a good slathering of honey butter. As she took small nibbles of her meager meal, the mage cringed as she was forced to listen to the men next to her slurp their stew. The sound was driving her mad and she was compelled to close her eyes to calm her ever-growing annoyance and anger.

When she finally opened her eyes, she nearly dropped her piece of bread into the disgusting concoction in the bowl sitting in front of her. A man dressed in black leather from head to toe swaggered across the room, heading for the table nearest the exit. He moved with purpose and an air of confidence and danger that spoke of a man who was cocksure with good reason, and Miriana gasped at the sight of him. He was exactly how she had always pictured Gerard.

He was tall, over six feet, and thin, but not overly skinny. His long, leather duster swished back and forth just above the ankles of his knee-high boots. The high collared black linen shirt he wore, unlaced to reveal a thick patch of dark chest hair, was covered by a hip-long vest, held together with half a dozen large, ornate, silver clasps and a thick belt with a heavy silver buckle. The vest covered a pair of tight pants, the outer thighs of which were made from the same material as his coat, while the inner portion was fashioned from what appeared to be wool.

The light streaming in from the nearby windows glimmered in the loosened strands of long, ebony hair framing his face. The remainder of his locks were tied back just above the nape of his neck, and hung down well past his shoulders. He appeared to be in his late twenties to early thirties, but it was difficult to tell through the neatly trimmed scruff that shadowed his jaw, and the fine lines at the corners of his deep set, hooded eyes. Thick dark brows complemented the aquamarine color of his irises, as did the healthy bronze shade of his skin.

He called the barmaid to his table by lifting a ringed index finger in the air. The left side of his mouth curved upward to reveal a deep dimple in his cheek. It wasn't a smile he wore, but more a concentrated frown born from anguish. He leaned back in his chair and crossed the ankles of his long legs then folded his arms over his chest as he awaited the serving girl's approach.

When the man began to survey the room around him, Miriana looked down to concentrate on her bread. After a few moments, she decided she simply had to chance another glimpse at the handsome stranger. She couldn't help herself.

When she glanced up, she found him staring directly at her. Miriana's face grew hot. His crystal green-blue eyes were so intense, so frightening, yet alluring. The exchange only lasted seconds, but the memory of it would be burned into her mind for a lifetime. Her entire body trembled, her fingers shaking so hard she could barely hold the bread in her hand. Against her fascination, the rapid beating of her heart impelled her to cast her eyes downward to break the spell of his gaze.

It took several moments for Miriana to catch her breath. When she regained some of her senses, she scowled at the bowl of stew that lingered on the table below. The smell was vile, prompting her to push it away with the tips of her fingers. As she took another bite of her bread, she began to wonder why he had stared at her in that manner. Was he planning an attack? Scoping out his next victim? Was he thinking of abducting her, of doing unscrupulous things to her? No. Not that. He seemed dangerous and angry, but she saw no hint of the kind of man who perpetrate that sort of crime in his eyes.

Perhaps he found interest in her of a less frightening nature. Maybe he even found her attractive. No. That wasn't it. It was a lovely notion, but she knew in her heart that was all it could ever be. Even if she weren't a mage in the presence of two templars, a man like that would never be attracted to the likes of her. She was too plain and uninteresting for someone like him. Miriana gave a small sigh.

 _At least I'll have some lovely dreams tonight._

* * *

Garrett drummed his jeweled fingers on the worn wooden surface of the table as he waited for the barmaid to bring his order. Even in his agitated state, he sat back and scanned the room for possible dangers just as he always did. The place was nearly deserted, with only one other occupied table.

At the table nearest the bar, there were two men dressed in heavy plate with flaming swords emblazoned on their chests marking them as templars. Sitting between them was a woman in green mage's robes. Garrett's gaze lingered on her for several moments. She was attractive, with fair skin and sable brown hair pulled into a single long braid draped over her right shoulder. She couldn't have been more than twenty, which made her a bit young for Garrett's tastes. He couldn't explain it, but he couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from her.

She looked up from her meal, giving him full view of the most mesmerizing pair of lapis eyes he had ever seen. Such an unusual color. One he had only seen once before, many years ago when Marko gave passage to a very young and precocious little girl. Surely this woman couldn't be that child. She _was_ the right age, however.

The pirate held the woman's gaze until she quite abruptly returned her attention to her meal. He couldn't help but chuckle to himself when she wrinkled her nose and pushed the bowl in front of her to the middle of the table. The heavy odor of fish wafting from her direction and her distaste for her food spoke volumes. It had to be her. That same girl had nearly hit him in the head with a plate of fish fourteen years back when he tried to serve it to her on the ship at his father's behest.

He watched her for a few more minutes. Whether she was that same little girl or not, she made it quite obvious that she didn't find him as interesting as he found her. He exhaled a small sigh before reluctantly resuming his perusal of his surroundings.

His gaze moved to the table in the corner of the far side of the room. It was nearly completely hidden in darkness, and there was something about it that he found unsettling. Just before he looked away, Garrett swore he discerned movement within those shadows. After focusing on the spot for several minutes, he had to shake himself when he detected what appeared to be two blood red orbs glaring back at him.

 _Just the after effect of all the rum, mate._

"Will there be anything else, ser?" the barmaid asked as she placed his plate down on the table. Garrett hadn't even noticed she was there until she spoke.

"No," he muttered as he plunked a silver down on the worn wooden surface next to his mug. "Thanks."

The serving girl flashed a wry grin as she fiddled with small amulet nestled between her large breasts. "My shift's over in an hour if you're interested in some company."

The captain shook his head with a half-hearted smile. Between what he encountered at Castle Cousland, his dreams of Maggie, and the uneasy feeling in his gut, he simply wasn't in the mood for such banter right then.

"Sorry, love," he told her. "But I plan to be shoving off before then."

The woman seemed highly put out by his slight of her advances. It wasn't as if he was rude in his rejection. He simply wasn't interested.

"Your loss," she said with a slight scowl and a shrug before spinning on her heel and skulking away.

Garrett coated the end of a hunk of warm bread he had torn from the loaf with butter before slowly moving his eyes back to the darkened corner. He concentrated on the shadows for several moments, but found nothing of interest. If there had really been anything or anyone there before, it was gone.

 _See, mate. All in your head._

The pirate lifted the piece of bread in his hand to take a bite as his gaze turned back to the mage and her templar escorts. It was then that he took notice of a figure in a heavy black hooded cloak leaning against the bar. The sensation of unease and dread Garrett felt earlier heightened. The captain's eyes trailed down the figure's form to its hands where he spotted tiny sparks crackling and dancing around the fingertips. The pirate slipped his right hand into his coat to grip the ebony handled cutlass at his left hip.

 _You picked the wrong day for this, mate._

* * *

Miriana kept her eyes to the table. She wanted to chance another glimpse at the dark man who had captured her attention, but she was too afraid he might notice. When she felt Kegan shift impatiently in the seat next to her, she took a peek at his bowl and found it empty. It was time to leave. Fighting against her shyness and trepidation, the mage decided she had to steal one final glance at the dashing stranger before relenting to the templar's unspoken commands.

She lifted her head and found him facing in her direction. Her shoulders slumped with disappointment. He wasn't looking at her. In fact, he seemed to be looking right through her. It was something Miriana had grown very accustomed to over the years. She was the quiet one, the invisible one.

At first, Miriana thought the man might be eyeing the pretty barmaid. Just because he denied her request didn't mean he didn't find her attractive. The serving girl was blonde and of average height with an hourglass figure, made more prominent by the tightly cinched corset she wore. From the mage's limited experience with men, she knew the barmaid was the kind of woman most men would find appealing. Why should the man in black be any different?

The stranger's brow creased and his lids narrowed. Miriana felt a shift in the Veil and the strong pull of the Fade. Something very powerful and extremely dark was in that room. That was when she realized, there was no hint of lust in the sharp, green-blue eyes of the man, but vigilance against peril she could feel but not see. He saw it, though. His hand slid from the table to the inside of his coat. Grenier shifted in his seat. Her eyes darted from Kegan to Grenier. Both men were gripping the hilts of their swords. The templars had felt it too, and they were preparing for battle.

The tavern door burst open with a raucous crash with six men in the wake of the disturbance. Three wore long, short-sleeved shimmering cloaks with hoods that jutted at sharp angles at the crown and front. The rest were dressed in strange armor, steel with gold and brown leather pauldrons and chest pieces. Their helmets appeared as silver masks decorated with thick metal horns in the shape of a large, oddly angled V that came to a point between the eyeholes.

"Your father sends his regards," one of the men in cloaks announced

In unison, the cloaked men began to spread their arms wide. Fire and lightning formed in their hands and began to grow with their movements. Suddenly, there was a tremendous shift in magical energy. The dark power Miriana felt earlier permeated the very air, as if the Veil between reality and the Fade had abruptly been ripped open.

A heavy hand gripped Miriana's shoulder and shoved her to the floor as Grenier and Kegan both jumped to their feet and spun around, swords in hand. From under the table, the young mage saw the heavy boots of the tall stranger kick away his chair then overturn his own table. He leapt forward, landing on his side, and skid across the floor toward her.

When he reached Miriana, he gathered her into his arms and rolled over on top of her. The scruff of his chin felt like dozens of pinpricks digging into her forehead as he pressed her to his body. The young mage's respirations came in sharp, rapid gasps as she tried to catch her breath under his weight. Her heart pounded erratically as panic began to overtake her. Just before she closed her eyes, a blinding flash of light illuminated the room followed by a tremendous clap of thunder. The thud of bodies hitting the floor almost simultaneously echoed across the tavern, and when it was over, the only thing the young mage could hear was the sound of her own panting resonating through the otherwise silent room.


	25. The Knight and Her Templar

The man in black loosened his grip and shifted his arms until the weight of the top half of his body was resting on his forearms. The loosened tresses of his ebony hair grazed Miriana's cheeks as he stared down into her eyes.

"Are you alright, love?" he asked, his brow creased with concern.

As fast as her heart had been beating just seconds before, Miriana felt it stop under the weight of his gaze. The events that had just transpired were completely forgotten in that moment. The tavern, the world around her faded into nothingness. The only thing left was the two of them.

The mage's lips trembled as she finally managed to mouth a reticent, "Yes."

"Are you sure, love?" he questioned. "You seem a bit shaken up." The left corner of his lips curved into a rakish smirk. "Or perhaps you're just having a difficult time breathing under the weight of an old pirate."

Miriana gulped. He _was_ a pirate. Dear sweet Maker, it was him. It was actually him. Gerard was real. He was real and he had rescued her. There were a million things she wanted to say to him, to ask him. She had been in love with him since she was nine years old, ever since the first time she read the book her father gave her for a birthday present. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Her face flushed crimson, her lapis eyes helpless as she brandished a silent nod.

When he chuckled at her answer, Miriana died a little inside. He thought her nod meant to tell him he was too heavy. That wasn't her intention at all. After making a quick surveillance of their surroundings, the pirate bounced to a crouching position in one graceful motion then raised himself to his full height. His grin broadened as he bent at the waist and held out his hand to her.

"Sorry about that, love," he apologized. "Wasn't my aim to crush you."

As the mage reached out to accept his aid, her hand was shaking so hard she appeared as if she had caught a chill. On the contrary, her entire body felt as if it were on fire. Every inch of her flesh reddened as her skin made contact with his.

He pulled her to her feet and placed a soft kiss on her knuckles. His lips parted as if he were about to speak again, when recognition of threat flashed in his aquamarine eyes. He dropped her hand to grip the hilt of an ebony handled cutlass at his waist and spun around, unsheathing the weapon as he turned. With his free hand, he pulled Miriana into his back and held her there.

The mage pressed her cheek into the cold leather of his coat, gasping for air as she tried to make sense of what was happening. On the floor, near her feet, lay the bodies of her escorts. Their dead eyes and faces were set in a permanent state of horror. Tears began streaming from the young woman's eyes as she attempted to control the urge to pull her protector closer. She dug her hands into the sides of his duster and prayed to the Maker for deliverance from whatever put those terrified expressions on the faces of Lieutenant Kegan and Ser Grenier. Beneath her breath, Miriana began to recite a barrier spell to guard against the threat to her and her unknown savior.

"If you know what's good for you, mate," her benefactor warned as he indicated to the door with the point of his cutlass. "You'll head right out that door and find a fast ship and a strong breeze."

Miriana expected to hear a cold, cackling voice in answer to his demand. Instead, the response was from that of a quiet and seemingly unassuming man. "I apologize. I did not mean to frighten you. I intend you no harm."

The man in leather gestured toward Miriana's escorts lying dead on the floor. "While I'm sure these two gentlemen find your reassurances quite comforting, I'm not so easily swayed. I'm just funny that way, I suppose."

"They attacked me first," he reasoned. "You couldn't expect me not to defend myself."

Miriana heard the other man shuffle to her guardian's side and felt the arm around her tighten. The cloaked man pulled back his hood. He was about Miriana's height with wavy, shoulder-length, strawberry blonde hair. His skin was extremely pale and his jaw sported scruff of the same light color as his mane. The width of his nose made his eyes appear smaller than they actually were, and there seemed to be a permeant furrow to the crease between his thin brows. Although he looked to be fairly young, the troublesome burden glinting within his light blue eyes betrayed a man who was experienced beyond his years. The thin smile he forced gave the impression of a very shy man.

"I apologize to you as well, dear lady," he said in a soft voice. "I hope that you of all people can understand the predicament I found myself in and the reasoning for my behavior."

Despite the fact that he seemed sincere, there was something about the man that Miriana didn't trust. There was a dark energy in his magic and his aura, which extended much deeper than his outward appearance suggested. She tightened her grip on her rescuer and silently turned her eyes to the floor.

"My name is Remus," the light-haired man told them. "Remus Terentius, former Altus of the Tevinter Imperium."

He was a Tevinter. That admission frightened Miriana even more. No wonder he possessed such dark magic. The Imperium was known to be full of blood mages who worshipped pagan gods and used demons as playthings.

"That's all well and good, mate," the taller man said. "But you're a long way from home. So, how about this? Why don't you let the young lady and I walk and you just skulk back to Tevinter before we all find ourselves in trouble for your handiwork."

Remus sighed. "Actually…I was hoping for your aid. That brig in the harbor, the one with the dragon sail…it is yours, is it not?"

"Aye," the pirate answered. "She's my lady. What concern is she of yours?"

"Those men who attacked me," he explained. "There will be more coming soon. I need to get out of Highever before they arrive."

"I'm afraid you're out of luck there, mate," the captain retorted. "After what you just did, every templar in Ferelden will be looking for you. I typically try to avoid having those prats up my ass."

"I only need passage to your next port of call," Remus argued. "I will pay you well for the privilege. Anything you ask."

"Alright, mate," the captain relented as he sheathed his sword. "Five hundred gold. Not a copper less. And if any templars attempt to board my ship, I'll throw you overboard myself and sail away while they fish your Imperial ass out of the sea."

"Very well," Remus agreed. "I will pay you as soon as we are on our way."

"I deal in coin, mate," the pirate countered. "Not promises. Pay me now or walk your ass back to Tevinter. You may want to start now, though. It's a good distance from here."

Miriana heard the sound of coins clattering against wood atop a nearby table. "I will meet you on your ship then?"

The captain gave a curt nod, but remained standing reticent in the same position. The sound of footsteps creaking across the worn wooden floorboards echoed throughout the room. The pirate's back moved against Miriana's cheek with every deep breath he took. Suddenly, the footfalls stopped and a flame rose up on the right side of Lieutenant Kegan's body engulfing a pool of sparkling red liquid that had seeped from the pocket of the templar's skirt. A moment later, the squeak of rusty hinges resonated in the air as a strong wind blew through the tavern and put the flame out. Miriana jumped at the sound of the door slamming shut. Frightened tears stung her eyes as her body shuddered against the man she was clinging to for dear life.

The pirate took a step forward, forcing the mage to let loose her tight grip on him. He turned to regard Miriana with a sympathetic smile as he gently cupped her chin with calloused fingers. The danger and anger she had recognized within his green-blue eyes before had given way to kindness and compassion.

"And what of you, love?" he inquired. "Do you require passage as well?"

Miriana's gaze moved over to the two templars lying on the floor. She was unsure what she should do. She could go to the local Chantry and tell them what had transpired, but would anyone believe her? By no choice of her own, she was now an apostate. A mage outside the Circle with no templar escort. What if the local templars thought she was the one that murdered Kegan and Grenier? They would execute her, or worse yet, make her tranquil.

Her phylactery. Kegan had told her he had it in his possession that morning. Perhaps if she took it with her, they would be more apt to believe her tale. Miriana pulled her face from the pirate's hand and hurried to the dead templar's side. She searched the pockets of the body, checking the burned section last. Beneath the hole in the man's skirt, she found minuscule shards of broken glass. Her stomach sank. Her phylactery and any evidence it had been there were gone aside from a few tiny pieces of glass that had been burned clean.

Miriana's heart raced, thumping so hard she thought it would pound a hole in her chest. It felt as if there was a heavy weight trying to force its way out of the center of her ribcage. Her throat constricted as she attempted to swallow back the panic and bile trying to force its way out. The nerves beneath her skin felt as if they were burning with electric sparks of lightning. The room began to darken and spin around her.

A hand on her shoulder brought Miriana back from the brink of the abyss that washed over her. The pirate knelt at her side and regarded her with thoughtful curiosity. The mage had to make a conscious effort to keep her teeth from chattering as she finally spoke in a voice just above a whisper.

"I…I need to get to the Circle Tower," she stammered. "At Lake Calenhad...B…but I'm afraid I have no money to pay you."

He took her hand and placed another gentle kiss on her knuckles. "No need for coin, love," he told her with just the hint of a flirtatious grin. "The presence of your beauty on my ship will be payment enough."

Miriana swooned, her panic altered to adoration. She drew a ragged breath. "Thank you, my lord," she breathed.

"I'm no pratty noble, love," the pirate insisted. He kept hold of her hand as he sprang gracefully to his feet and flourished an animated bow. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Captain Hawke of _Yavana's Call."_ He pulled her hand gently, urging her to her feet. "And it is most certainly a pleasure to make your acquaintance, dear lady."

A girlish giggle escaped Miriana's lips. She covered her mouth with her hand in an attempt to mask both the childish laugh and her excitement. He was even more dashing than she imagined. She assumed Hawke was a surname. She wanted to ask his given, but she feared he would think her rude. Perhaps later. She presented him with a small curtsy, just the way her mother taught her many, many years ago.

"Thank you, Captain Hawke," she said with a smile. "I am Miriana, a mage from the Circle of Ostwick."

His brow arched as if her name surprised him somehow. The affect was quickly altered when he grazed his lips softly across the back of her hand once more. Upon returning to his full height, his lips curled into an angular smirk.

"A beautiful name for a beautiful lady," he said as he crooked his right arm in offer for her to take. "Shall we, love?"

Miriana could only manage a nod as she slipped her arm between his and his side. He pulled her closer to him and placed the fingers of his other hand over her bicep then led her toward the door. The mage's legs were trembling so badly she was forced to hold the captain's arm a little tighter than was likely proper. She inhaled deeply, breathing in his scent. He smelled of a blend of fine leather, musk, exotic spices and the salty air of the sea with just a hint of dark rum. It was intoxicating. In truth, Miriana found everything about the man intoxicating.

They walked in silence down the rickety docks until they arrived at the end of the wharf to the sight of a ship more beautiful than Miriana could ever imagine. It was a brig, but slightly taller and wider than _The Sea Rover_. The sides were painted a deep, rich brown with dark blue accents and blue railings along the top. Beneath the bowsprit, there was a carved wooden figure of a stunning nude woman holding a large red orb in her outstretched hand. Upon her head, covering the top of her long, wavy hair was a helmet with large curved horns like a ram. At the back of the ship crouched a great wooden dragon with wings spanning the length of the stern and its gaping maw lifted to the sky. The numerous sails hanging from the masts were ivory, apparently yellowed with time, with the exception of one. The largest, the main sail, was black with a massive red dragon gracing its center.

Miriana gasped when she realized the brig was the exact ship described in her book. It was Gerard's ship. The man at her side was most certainly the pirate she had fantasized and dreamed about for more than half her life. She stared up at the captain and exhaled a long contented sigh. She had finally found him. She only wished Julia could see him. The cryomancer would most definitely be forced to eat her words…then she would steal him away from Miriana. That speculation drew a sigh from the young mage's lips.

Captain Hawke peered up at the ship then turned his piercing aquamarine eyes to her. The left corner of his mouth curved in an uneven grin, and Miriana felt as if she would faint under his gaze. He indicated to the ship with a wave of his hand.

"Welcome to _Yavana's Call_ , love."

As his eyes remained locked to hers, Miriana began to wonder if she were under a spell of illusion. Maybe it was all just a strange dream. One of those nightmares that turns good in the end.

 _Dear sweet Maker,_ she thought as she got lost in those eyes. _If I am dreaming, don't ever let me wake._

* * *

It was well after midday before the Hawke family stopped running. All morning, the monstrous cries of tainted creatures echoed throughout the cliffs around them, forcing Gabrielle to keep turning down small paths which led deeper into the canyon. The eldest of the Hawke children was aware they couldn't go on much longer, but when Leandra began to stumble every few feet, Gabrielle felt she had little choice left in the matter. Although it was dangerous and against her better judgement, she knew they had to pause for a short rest.

The moment Gabrielle halted and held up her hand for the others to stop, her mother fell to her knees, panting with exertion. Bethany announced her displeasure by leaning against a large boulder and groaning while rubbing a knot from her sore calf. Carver, on the other hand, made his umbrage known in a more vocal manner.

"It's about bloody time," he groused as he bent at the waist and gripped his upper thighs.

Gabrielle was fed up with her brother's poor attitude. He had been complaining for hours about being tired and hungry, and it just became progressively worse as the day went on. The apostate was at her wit's end. No matter how far they ran, they seemed to be constantly surrounded on all sides by darkspawn, and Carver's complaining was just adding to the tension. She placed her hands on her hips and whirled around to confront him.

"Shut it, Carver!" she seethed. "If you don't stop your bitching, I swear to Andraste I'll give you my fist in your mouth as your next meal."

As usual, Carver glared at his sister in the light of her threat. His lapis eyes were full of acrimony and resentment as he stared daggers into hers. In defiance of Gabrielle's authority, he opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Bethany's quiet voice.

"Gabs?" she asked. "I don't mean to complain, but where are we going?"

"You mean other than away from the darkspawn?" her sister snapped.

Bethany cringed from the harshness of the other woman's tone, and the older apostate immediately regretted turning on her sister. She knew it was the girl's way of impeding the inevitable argument between her two siblings. Gabrielle usually recognized those attempts, but she was overly tired and worried which meant she wasn't thinking clearly and acting on instinct more than anything else. She heaved a sigh.

"I'm sorry, Bethie," she apologized. "I'm just tired."

Bethany shrugged, still looking like a shrinking violet. "It's okay, Gabs. I understand."

"The truth is…I have no bloody idea where we're going or even where we are," Gabrielle admitted.

"Of course you don't," Carver grumbled. "You couldn't find your way out of our kitchen without help most days." He scowled at the others. "Why in the Maker's name are we letting _her_ lead anyway?"

His older sister lifted her middle finger and scowled at him. "Fuck off, Carver!"

He was right, of course, but she wasn't about to admit that fact, especially not to her prat brother. The truth was, Gabrielle was good at a lot of things…fire and force magics, hunting with a bow, fighting with her fists…but the one thing she could never quite get the hang of was navigating. She lived in Lothering for several years before she didn't lose her way when she lost sight of the village's landmarks.

Gabrielle placed her hands back onto her hips and scanned her surroundings. She spotted a small bush to her left, which she was sure they had already passed at least twice, before releasing a heavy breath. They were definitely going around in circles. In her attempts to evade the darkspawn, she had lost her bearings completely. At one point, they came to what she had been sure was the Imperial Highway and decided to follow it in the hope it would lead them toward Highever. Unfortunately, when she heard the darkspawn nearing again, she veered back off into the cliffs. Because of that, she found herself completely and hopelessly lost.

The apostate surveyed the immediate vicinity and observed three paths ahead, snaking off in different directions between the cliffs. Which one had they taken the last time? The middle? No, it was the one on the left. Or was it? She growled with frustration.

"Dear," Leandra offered softly, "maybe you should let Carver try to lead us out."

Of all the people for her mother to suggest to lead, Carver was the absolute worst choice. Gabrielle's brother always had the fool notion in his head that the fact he was male meant he should be head of the family. Gabrielle disagreed with that sentiment. Just because he housed a set of balls between his legs didn't automatically make him responsible for the well-being of everyone around him. Never once in his eighteen years had he shown one sign that he was willing to take charge of anything past his constantly running mouth and sulking expressions. His older sister wasn't about to let him take the reins, especially in such dire circumstances. Not even for a second.

Gabrielle shook her head. "Absolutely not," she refused.

"Wait," Bethany told them as she lifted a hand in the air.

The younger apostate's brow was creased from concentrating on something the rest of them were too busy arguing to see or hear. Her lids narrowed as she turned her face to her right in the attempts to discern whatever it was she had detected. The others waited in silence for her to make up her mind as to whether or not she chose to clue them in further.

"Did you hear that?" she finally asked.

Gabrielle listened closely, but the only thing she could detect at that moment was the sounds of the darkspawn closing in on them. Her first instinct was to tell the others to flee, but she was sure they would just end up in the same place again. Her poor sense of direction was even worse when she was panicked.

"I hear voices," Bethany proclaimed. "Human voices." She pointed to the trail on the right. "I think they're coming from over there."

"I don't…" Gabrielle began, but before she could finish the sentence, Bethany took off toward the path. "Bethie! Wait!" she cried, but her sister was already between the two cliffs surrounding the passage.

It was unlike Bethany to act so impulsively. Other than when she was frightened or bothered by confrontation or loud noises, the girl was typically level-headed. What was she thinking taking off like that?

"Come on," Gabrielle ordered as she beckoned the others to follow.

Several yards ahead of where the path veered into the cliffs, Gabrielle found her sister casting ice spells at darkspawn who had surrounded a man in templar armor. He was covered in thick, black ooze. His left arm was pushed against his abdomen while his right seemed to be struggling to maneuver the longsword it held.

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a woman with flaming red hair appeared dressed in a heavy wool, ivory shirt covered by a long brown leather tunic vest. She charged at the creatures around the templar, kicking the one nearest to her in the chest and knocking it over. She then used the pommel of her longsword on the temple of another before running the blade through the monster's gut.

Before the genlock was even free from her blade, she jerked her sword away, pivoted on the balls of her feet, and dove at the hurlock nearest the templar, toppling it to the ground with her. She threw her left leg over the beast's chest, straddling it, before grabbing the sword she dropped next to her right knee and driving the end of the blade through the creature's throat.

The female warrior then leapt to her feet and retrieved the templar's shield from the nearby ground. She bashed another hurlock in the face with it before grabbing the templar's arm and hauling him to his feet. Her chest and shoulders rose and fell with the effort of her heavy breathing as she sneered at the rest of the creatures.

"Get back you lot!" she warned, panting more from anger than exertion. "You won't take him. Not today. Not on my watch."

Her words seemed more of a challenge than a declarative statement as she used her own body and will as a human shield for the man who was now pressed to her back. Her bright green eyes dared the creatures to engage her as she held her sword at the ready. The darkspawn inched closer to her, but she held her ground.

She diverted her eyes from her enemies long enough to address the man she intended to protect with her very life. There was a sad, longing determination in her gaze as she spoke to him, making the love she felt for the templar unmistakable.

"They won't get near you," she vowed. "Not while these lungs still draw breath."

Gabrielle called a minuscule ball of flame into each of her palms. With expert precision, she began to fuse the two small fires together, creating a substantially larger blaze. As she pulled her hands apart, the sphere grew until it was so massive in size that it hid the better part of her form behind it.

"Move!" she shouted as a warning to the couple.

The creatures had turned their attention to her and were beginning to advance. With a brisk flick of her wrists, she flipped her palms forward and used force magic to send the spell hurtling at the beasts. As it gathered momentum, the flame grew so large that, when it finally found its targets, it lit the entire party of darkspawn on fire. The creatures screeched in agony as they began falling to the ground one after the next in stinking, burning heaps.

In the interim, the templar had fallen to his knees and Bethany hurried over to tend his wounds. Even with the sword and flame emblem emblazoned upon the man's chest glaring in her eyes, the young woman didn't hesitate even a moment to run to the templar's aid. Although Malcolm had warned his children time and again to beware the Chantry knights, the healer in her wouldn't allow him to suffer. She knelt down at his side to check the extent of his injuries, but instead of finding gratitude, he held out his hand to order her to stop.

"Keep your distance, apostate," he protested. "You will not touch me with your vile magic."

"I only want to help," Bethany told him with a kind and reassuring smile.

The templar sneered at the healer as he struggled to find his feet. "To help control my mind, you mean."

He stared the girl down with a threatening glare in his deep brown eyes. He then lifted his sword toward the woman. The end of the weapon quaked, making it clear to everyone the effort it took for him to continue gripping the hilt with his shaking hand. Gabrielle removed her father's staff from her back and stepped between her sister and the templar.

"You may have the power to negate my magic, templar," the small woman acknowledged through narrowed lids. "But I am much stronger than I look, and I swear to you, if you lay one finger on my sister or take even one step more toward her, you will die by my hand."

The templar's sword wavered in the air. He was losing his grip by the second. In one swift motion, Gabrielle used her staff to knock the weapon from his hand and into the dirt with a clatter. She placed the sharp points of the head of the stave at his throat and gave it a gentle push until they were biting into his flesh. Within seconds, she felt the tip of a blade at the side of her own neck.

"And if you draw any blood from him," she heard the redheaded woman say, "You will repay it in kind with your own."

The apostate pulled her staff back, but only an inch or so and glowered up at the man standing before her. "You know, most people say 'thank you' when someone else saves their lives. But I guess they never taught you that in templar school."

"First, I'll thank you to back away from my husband," the female warrior said. "Then we'll talk about any gratitude I might have for your saving our lives."

As upset as Gabrielle was at finding herself in such a precarious situation, she was more angry with Carver for just standing back with his thumb up his ass. It was so very typical of her brother to do nothing to aid the family, especially her. The redhead had the upper hand in the situation. As soon as the apostate made a move with her stave, the warrior could shove that blade into her throat. The most Gabrielle could do was injure the templar before she found a hole in her neck. Still, she wasn't about to give in without some sort of fight. It just wasn't in her.

"As soon as you take that nug-sticker off my neck," she proposed. "I'll let your templar go."

"We can play this all day," the woman retorted. "But I think we both know who holds the advantage here. The choice is simple. Either back off or I'll take your head."

As stubborn as Gabrielle was, she wasn't stupid. There were days when she could argue for hours that the sky was purple if she had a mind to and never relent her position, even when she knew she was wrong. The cold steel against her neck, however, propelled her to desist. She took a step back, but kept both her staff and her magic at the ready. The redhead dropped the blade of her weapon to her side, but she did not sheathe it. The two women had formed an uneasy truce between them, which would last only until one or the other threatened their adversary's loved ones.

"I am Aveline Vallen," the warrior told them then tilted her head to the templar. "This is my husband, Ser Wesley."

Gabrielle didn't really give a damn who the woman or her husband were. She was still furious. Nobody threatened her family, especially her sister.

"What in the void is a templar doing out here in the middle of nowhere anyway? I thought any left in Lothering would have died defending the village in the attack last night. Or did you decide tracking down apostates was a worthier goal than saving people's lives?" She folded her arms over her flat chest. "Or maybe you're just a chicken shit."

Wesley sighed with irritation in an obvious attempt to keep his composure. "If you must know, I was never in Lothering. I was travelling to Denerim on business for the Order, but I had to turn south when I heard of Ostagar."

"My husband's an honorable man, but his lack of judgement and foresight astounds me at times," Aveline confessed. "We met on the Merchant's Path and were making our way northeast to Denerim."

 _Damn! I guess we were headed south._

The warrior sheathed her sword as an offering of peace. Gabrielle's staff remained prepared for battle. She didn't trust anyone that much when it came to her family, especially not a templar. In the apostate's eyes, Aveline was no better than her husband, simply a physical extension of the man's twisted beliefs about magic and those who wielded it.

"I think it would behoove us all to stick together," the redhead suggested. "At least until we get out of the darkspawns' path."

Gabrielle's right brow arced with confused bewilderment. The woman was barking mad if she thought anyone in her family would be escorted anywhere by a templar. She had spent her entire life running away from his ilk. The apostate was about to announce her denial of such a travesty of an idea, when she felt her sister's light grip on her bicep.

"Gabs," the girl said in a soft voice. "It's alright. I trust them not to hurt us."

The innocence and worry in Bethany's brown eyes softened the elder apostate's ire. She would never understand how the girl could remain so innocent and naïve in such a cruel world. She wondered if she should be proud or ashamed of herself for shielding her sister so much from the worst mankind had to offer. Still, she had a difficult time saying no. Gabrielle gave her younger sibling a sad smile.

"Alright, Bethie," she reluctantly agreed before turning her attention back to Aveline. "I only have one question, though."

"And what is that?" the redhead asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Given your husband's obvious distaste for me and my family, why in the Maker's name would you want to travel with us?" Gabrielle inquired with suspicion. "Is it your intention to try to turn us into the Chantry when we finally reach civilization again?"

"Another blade would come in handy, sister," her brother interjected.

"Nobody was asking you, Carver" Gabrielle admonished.

"The truth is," Aveline clarified. "There are only two of us and Wesley is injured. We will never make it out of this alive on our own." She looked over at Leandra. "And I daresay that you can use all the help you can get. Maybe we can all keep our heads intact if we stick together."

"You still didn't answer my question," the apostate reminded her. "Either you give your oath to let us go our separate ways at the end of this little alliance you're proposing, or we take our chances on our own." She tilted her head to Wesley. "Given your husband's injuries means you're down to one blade between the two of you. I'd say I'm the one who holds the advantage here. Wouldn't you?"

Aveline gave a terse nod and offered her hand to the apostate. "I give you my word," she vowed. "When this is over, we will not impede your departure." She regarded her husband with warning flashing in her green eyes. "Neither of us will."

Gabrielle remained wary, but she saw no hint of a lie in the other woman's eyes. Although Aveline was only one more person and Wesley would surely slow them down, the apostate knew they could use the warrior's aid. She would just have to trust the redhead was a woman of her word as she grasped Aveline's wrist to seal their partnership.

"It might be nice to know whose lives we're putting our hands in, however," the warrior reasoned.

"My name's Gabrielle. Gabrielle Hawke." The apostate pointed to the members of her family in turn as she revealed their names. "This is my sister, Bethany, and my mother, Leandra. And that prat is my little brother, Carver."

"Hawke, huh?" Aveline mulled over the name. "Short and to the point." Carver chuckled which earned a glare from his sister while Aveline chose to ignore the exchange. "Very Ferelden. It suits you. Better than Gabrielle anyhow."

"You can call me whatever you want as long as you can help us figure a way out of this shithole," Gabrielle drawled.

"North is cut off," she informed them. "We barely escaped the main body of the horde when we were forced to turn back."

 _So we were headed north, then?_

"But the Wilds are to the south," Carver interrupted with a distraught scowl. "There are witches there."

"Don't wet yourself, Carver" Gabrielle chided. "Anyway, I thought you were excited about joining the king's army so you could fight darkspawn. I had to listen to you bitch about it enough for the past month. Did you lose your stomach for it?"

"Fuck off, Gabby," he mumbled.

"Well, unless you're willing to take on the horde all by yourself, we're going south," his sister said flatly. "But that's entirely up to you."

Gabrielle picked up her foot to walk away, and realized she had no idea which direction south was. She placed her foot back on the ground and shuffled the dirt with the toe of her boot in the hopes no one else noticed her hesitation or embarrassment. Everyone stood in uneasy silence for what seemed like an eternity with the cries of the darkspawn closing in on them. When she could no longer bear the worry and the fear creeping up inside her, the apostate turned her attention to Aveline.

"After you," she proffered with a small wave of her hand.

Aveline presented her with a nod and began walking in the opposite direction Gabrielle would have taken. She would never tell the other woman, but she was grateful to have someone there who obviously possessed both leadership skills and navigational ability. She let Aveline get a few yards ahead of her before she began moving.

The warrior's strides were long and determined, and Gabrielle's legs were so short that she found herself needing to jog a bit to keep up. They went along in reticence for a time, listening to ensure the darkspawn weren't gaining on their position, but it was difficult to determine the distance of the creatures due to the way the noise echoed off the cliffs. After a while, Bethany fell in next to her sister.

"So where _are_ we going?" she whispered. "I mean after we get away from these darkspawn. If this is a Blight, there isn't going to be anywhere safe in Ferelden."

Gabrielle shook her head. "I don't know, Bethie. I'm just trying to get us out of any immediate danger." Her sister's lower lip disappeared between her teeth and her brow furrowed. "I know that look. You have an idea, but you're afraid to tell me." Bethany shrugged. "You know I'll listen to anything you have to say, sister."

"Alright," she finally sighed. "Mother seems to think we should go to Kirkwall."

Gabrielle flinched. "Kirkwall? Do you know how many templars are in Kirkwall? Dad always said the Gallows was the worst Circle in all of Thedas."

Her sister's shoulders sagged. "I know. I guess it was a stupid idea."

"It wasn't stupid…not really." Gabrielle was trying to find her mother's reasoning in the suggestion, and wondering why Bethany would ever agree. "But why Kirkwall of all places?"

"Mother says we still have family there. And an estate."

The older mage exhaled a long, exasperated breath. Maybe their mother was right. It seemed that things in Ferelden were only going to get worse. All Gabrielle knew for certain was that she had to protect her family. Perhaps if they were considered nobility, that would keep the templars at bay. Maybe they could even buy their way out of the Gallows. She peered over at Bethany who was staring at her with an anxious frown.

"The closest port to the Wilds is Gwaren," she relented. "We'll board a ship there."

A grin brightened Bethany's face. "It'll be fine, Gabs. You'll see. We'll be real noble ladies, just like mother was. We'll attend balls and parties and have tons of suitors asking for our hands in marriage."

"Of course we will, Bethie" Gabrielle agreed with a half-hearted smile. "It'll be great."

Internally, however, Gabrielle was far from convinced. She would never tell her sister that, of course, but she knew nothing was ever that simple, especially for their family. As Bethany prattled on about dresses and fancy dinner parties, Gabrielle worried, just as she had always done. She was certain her father would have been extremely unhappy to find out she was taking her family to the one place in Thedas he swore was the void itself, but she just couldn't see any other options.

 _I'm sorry, Dad._


	26. The Crows Nest

Garrett pulled another stack of charts from the cabinet next to his desk and tossed them atop the others. He had been searching for the best route to traverse the narrow channels into Lake Calenhad for nearly two hours and was becoming more frustrated with the ridiculous task by the minute. When he guaranteed passage to the young mage, he had felt sorry for her and her predicament, but the more he thought about what it would take to get her to Kinloch Hold, the more he regretted that decision.

While it was true that Miriana was beautiful, no woman was worth the trouble the captain was going through, no matter what manner of charms she possessed. As far as Garrett knew, his dad had only made the journey into Lake Calenhad once, when the young pirate was thirteen. There had to be a chart for that run, but he'd be buggered if he could find it.

The captain removed the flask from his hip and took a swig then stared down at the pile of maps for a long moment with chagrin. He had been perusing the parchments for so long, the lines were beginning to run together and his head was pounding from the effort. Garrett growled with irritation then swiped the maps from his desk onto the floor.

 _Why in the bloody void am I doing this?_

Martinez had visited him in his cabin a few minutes after the _Call_ 's departure from Highever with some information he had gathered on Howe. It seemed that the arl had plans to travel to Denerim by carriage upon his departure from the city two days prior to Garrett's arrival. If he left for Ferelden's capital that day, there was a good chance the captain could catch up to the murderous snake, but the sidetrack to the Circle was going to cost him precious time and put more distance between himself and his revenge. By the time the pirate got to Denerim, Howe could be gone. It could be weeks before Garrett found his trail again.

He could still salvage it, though. Dravers was less than a day's journey by ship, and he could drop his passengers off there. Better yet, he could leave Remus in the small port and perhaps convince Miriana to travel to Denerim with him. She couldn't possibly want to go back to the Circle. Who in their right mind would? Then, he might have actually be afforded the opportunity to get to the capital ahead of his quarry.

Garrett peered down at the mess littering the floor of his cabin and scowled. His new plan was certainly more sound than the previous one. It shouldn't take much to convince the mage it was the correct course of action, and he only promised to take Remus as far as his next port of call. Just because that stop would be more abrupt than the odd man had more than likely intended, it didn't mean that the captain had cheated him out of his coin. Besides, he wanted that Imperial bastard off his ship as soon as possible.

The pirate stared at the door for several moments mulling the words he planned to say to Miriana over in his head. If she happened to be resistant to the idea, he would need to use a bit of charm and finagling of words to convince her she was safe from the templars in his company, but he had no doubts he could manage it. He could be rather persuasive when he wanted to be.

Before departing his cabin, Garrett splashed some cologne on his neck and made a check of his face in the mirror to ensure the kohl hadn't smudged, then smoothed out the loosened strands of his hair. It was vanity at its finest, of course, and he felt like a bit of a prat for doing it, but he wanted to ensure he had every advantage when he spoke to the young mage. It would do him no good to try to charm the woman if he looked like a dirty street urchin.

When he emerged from his quarters, Garrett's intention was to turn to his left and knock on the door of the smaller cabin which he told Martinez to designate to Miriana. He stopped in his tracks, however, when he spotted her leaning against the nearby railings. His breath hitched in his throat at the sight of her. Gone were the bulky and unflattering mage's robes. They were replaced by a flowing dress, long-sleeved and low cut of blue the color of a robin's egg. The hemlines were a bit shorter on the mage than the smaller woman the garment had been intended for, and the dress hugged Miriana's ample curves better than it had its original owner's.

The mage turned her head in Garrett's direction and all thought left his head. The windblown strands of sable hair that had come loose from her braid and whipped across flushed cheeks only added to her appeal. Never in his twenty-eight years had the pirate seen a lovelier vision. When he strode toward her, she presented him with a shy smile as she attempted to tuck the wild tresses behind her ear to no avail.

"Good afternoon, Captain," she greeted in a soft voice.

She didn't look him in the eye, but seemed to concentrate on the dagger-shaped amulet hanging from the silver chain around his neck. Garrett regarded her with a slight scowl, not born of irritation, but confusion. He couldn't imagine why she refused to look him in the eye. The few times he had caught her gaze, the encounters had been far too brief before she turned away. It was an odd occurrence. One he had never really encountered with such a comely lass before. He garnered such a reaction from plainer women in the past, but ones who were as beautiful as Miriana were always quite aware of and confident in their charms. Perhaps she merely found no interest in him, or worse, she feared him.

Garrett's grimace deepened. His plan to convince her to accompany him to Denerim was beginning to fall apart even before he made the proposal. Maybe he needed a different approach than just speaking with the woman. A way to put her at ease. Perhaps if he showed her the wonders of traveling by ship, she would be swayed. It was worth the attempt, at least.

"Good afternoon, love," he acknowledged with his most winning smile. The action was lost on her. She didn't even look up to notice the effort.

She smoothed out the front of her dress. "I…I hope you don't mind," she stammered. "But your first mate told me I should wear this so I would be less conspicuous in case we were intercepted by templars."

The captain had to chuckle at that sentiment. He knew Martinez well enough to know the man wasn't worried about the Chantry knights in the least once the _Call_ set sail. Templars had attempted to board the ship many times over the years and never managed to get very far before they were unceremoniously removed in one fashion or another. It was more likely his first mate just wanted to see a pretty young woman in a pretty dress.

"You may not be recognized as a mage in that dress, love," Garrett told her with a smirk. "But trust me when I tell you, you are far from inconspicuous."

The blush of her cheeks brightened upon hearing his words. She mumbled a reticent "thank you" before turning her attention back to the water. The pirate was mistaken in his flattery, but it was far from empty. Miriana would stand out in any crowd in her current state. He had to find a way to recover from that little slip.

"Would you care for a tour of my lady, love?" he asked as he crooked his arm for her. "Or did Mister Martinez already beat me to the pleasure?"

The pirate's mood lightened a bit when she slipped a hesitant arm around his elbow. She was willing to walk with him, but still wouldn't look him in the eye. It was something to go on, at least.

"That would be lovely, Captain," she replied. "Thank you."

Garrett took his time showing the mage the many areas and details of the _Call._ She seemed interested in the working of the riggings as he explained them and enthralled by the stories of damages taken to the different parts of the ship by rival pirates and royal fleets. She asked no questions nor even spoke more than a word or two here and there, but the mage seemed a little more at ease in his presence by the time they returned to the main mast.

A sly smirk traced the pirate's lips as his gaze trailed up the large wooden column to the crow's nest. He had an idea, and, to his surprise, it was something he remembered from skimming through one of Varric's terrible books based on his life. He turned to Miriana and offered her his hand.

"There's one more thing I would like to show you, love," he said. "If you wouldn't mind indulging an old pirate."

The space between her brows disappeared as she bestowed a shrug and an apprehensive smile. "I suppose," she agreed.

Garrett led the mage by the hand to a special set of ropes and pulleys near the base of the mast. They were special riggings his dad had installed on the ship for his own use, and they had been a part of the _Call_ ever since Garrett could remember. In his younger years, Marko had ignored his health and the warnings of the ship's doctor about an infection that had settled into his left foot. After a time, gangrene finally set in and the captain's leg was taken up to the knee to save his life. The limb was replaced by a pegleg, but the prosthesis made it more difficult for the man to maneuver his ship and impossible to climb up to the nest. So, he had riggings built into the _Call_ to afford him the opportunity to ascend to the observation deck whenever he wished.

The captain moved in closer to the mage and cupped her chin with his fingers before turning her face up to look at him. For the first time since she boarded the ship, she finally met his gaze. The tiny golden flecks in pools of brilliant lapis sparkled in the afternoon sun. The effect was almost hypnotic in its allurement. The pirate was forced to swallow past a knot in his throat before he could regain his powers of speech.

"You'll need to hold on tight to me for this, love," he instructed. "Will you trust me?"

Although she appeared completely frightened by the unknown prospect, Miriana nodded her agreement to his request. Garrett flashed a reassuring smile then drew her body close against his before wrapping the rope of the right pulley around his leather covered arm twice and clutching it with his hand. He bent at the knees until his left arm was encircling her waist in a grip solid enough that he was sure he wouldn't drop her. As he lifted her from the ground, the pirate kicked out with his right foot and tripped a large lever with the toe of his boot. Seconds later, they were soaring into the air at a rapid pace with Miriana's head planted into his shoulder and her lids squeezed tight. A muffled squeal reverberated against his neck and upper chest as she clung to him for dear life.

Once Garrett's feet were finally planted on the upper platform, he tried to loosen his hold on the mage. She responded by digging her nails deeper into his shoulders. Her heart was beating so hard against his, he could feel every flutter. She was shivering against him when she finally spoke.

"Please," she entreated in a voice barely above a whisper. "Please get me down."

"Afraid of high places?" he questioned. She answered with a furious bobbing of her head. "It's alright, love," he reassured her. "I won't let you fall. I'm a bit of an old hand at this. Been doing it since I was a wee lad."

He let go of the rope in his hand to wrap his right arm around her waist and slowly lower her to the planks. She allowed him to set her down, but she continued to cling to him with closed lids. Garrett held her tighter as he lowered his head and placed his lips against her cheek next to her ear.

 _Shh,_ he gently comforted. "Don't worry, love. You're as safe with me as a newborn babe in its mother's arms. It wasn't my aim to frighten you. I just wanted to show you the best view in all of Thedas. There's nothing grander than the sight of the sea from the top of my lady."

The pirate felt Miriana's chest swell heavily against him just before her entire body relaxed with an audible sigh. Either he found the exact right thing to say in that moment, or she had simply given up so he would get her back to the main deck quicker. She turned her face to the left so that her forehead was pressing into his stubbled jaw.

"There," he breathed. "Much better. Just one piece of advice, love. Keep your eyes to the horizon and not below to the ship. The quavering of the mast will turn your guts."

"It's very beautiful, Captain," she croaked. "But I would really like to get down now."

Garrett's plan had backfired completely. He doubted he would ever be able to convince the mage of anything now that he had frightened the poor lass half to death. The only option remaining to him was to drop her in Dravers or take her all the way to Kinloch. As much as he thirsted to see Howe's blood staining his blade, the feel of Miriana in his arms was nearly enough to sway his decision to keep his promise to her.

 _Damned dwarf! I should have known better than to pay mind to anything in those books. Gerard may be a prat, but I'm a bloody idiot._

With a ponderous sigh he snaked the rope of the second rigging around his wrist and hand then buckled his knees to lift the mage from the platform once again. Once she was securely in his grasp, he took a step to the side in preparation to jump.

"Hang on, love," he forewarned, knowing the trip down would most likely frighten her more than the ascent to the observation deck.

She tightened her hold on his neck and squeezed her lids as he took the final plunge from the nest and rapidly descended to the deck. Miriana shrieked in his ear and nearly choked the life out of him on the outset of their decline. By the time Garrett's feet alit on the deck, the mage was trembling like a skittish kitten.

Miriana lingered in his embrace only a moment before pushing away and extending the smallest of curtsies. "Th…thank you, Captain," she mumbled. "I…I think I shall retire to my cabin now…If you d…don't mind."

"Of course, love," he replied with a concerned frown. "Will you be alright?"

She submitted a frantic nod and mouthed an inaudible, "Yes," before spinning around and skittering away to her cabin. Garrett felt utterly helpless as he watched her depart. He thought to run after her, but knew it would only make things worse. He exhaled a long breath as he strode toward his own cabin, resolved to do the only thing he could think of to make up for his transgression. He would find the chart for the route that would lead him into Lake Calenhad and lead Miriana out of his life forever. Howe and the pirate's vendetta against him would simply have to wait just a little longer.

* * *

Although she was displeased about it at the time, Miriana found she was actually grateful for Kegan forcing that stew on her earlier. It certainly made emptying her stomach into the bucket between her knees easier. She felt like such a fool, such a child, that her poor constitution had gotten the best of her in such a romantic moment.

How many times had she fantasized about that very thing? In her daydreams, the ascent to the crows nest always ended in a passionate kiss followed by a tryst in Gerard's private quarters, not with her heaving into a bucket. Reality was so much more complicated. The Maker was finally allowing her to have a grand adventure of her own and she was mucking it up in every way imaginable.

Captain Hawke must have thought her an imbecile or a simpleton. She couldn't even look him in the eye without his forcing her to. She could hear Julia's laughter in the recesses of her mind.

 _Poor, poor, delusional, pathetic Miri. I told you filling your head with those stories would only bring you trouble someday._

The young mage sighed. At least the vomiting stopped. Perhaps her adventure could still be salvaged. She waggled her head. No, it was no use. She simply wasn't capable of growing a spine in the next few days. Besides, the captain's actions were probably just an attempt to be nice because he felt sorry for her.

Miriana walked over to the bed and flopped back onto the mattress. She couldn't help but smile at the recollection of his body pressed to hers and the feel of his warm breath against her skin as he whispered into her ear. Even if her fantasy hadn't exactly happened the way she had wanted, she would still carry the memory of that experience for the remainder of her life.

She rubbed the place on her cheek where his lips had brushed her skin and her body shuddered from the remembrance. Inhaling deeply, she took in the scent of him, still fresh on her clothes. Never before in her nineteen years had every one of her senses felt so alive. It was magic more powerful than any she had ever experienced. She closed her eyes to recall every detail of every moment she spent with the captain that day. Somewhere in her imaginings, memories turned to images of the Fade and the mage fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

 _Miriana sat in a tavern. There was no table before her. They had all been overturned. Bodies of men, both familiar and strange littered the floor. Her entire being quaked with consternation. Where was her savior? Her captain?_

 _A figure in a heavy black cloak surrounded by an eerie crimson light approached her. The hood of the garment was pulled up to hide the identity of the person beneath. That frightened her even more._

 _The calm, reserved voice of a man echoed throughout the room as the figure stood over her._

 _"Please," he entreated. "Allow me to explain, my lady."_

 _The young mage turned her gaze to the floor. One of the templars who had acted as her escort stared back at her with lifeless eyes. Tears began to spill down her cheeks._

 _"Please," she begged. "Let me go."_

 _The cloaked figure knelt down next to her and removed the hood from his head. Everything else in the room disappeared, leaving the young mage and her captor surrounded in complete darkness. She could still see his face, his form, by the odd red aura surrounding him. Remus's lips curved into a smile that pleaded with her to hear him. Understand him._

 _"Just a few minutes of your time," he said. "That's all I ask of you."_

 _Miriana had no choice. She knew he would not allow her to go. Although he asked, he was giving her no option._

 _"Very well," she conceded in a soft voice._

 _He pulled up a chair and sat before her in the blackness. She had no idea from where the chair had come. He leaned forward. She tried to shy away, but found she couldn't move._

 _"As I told you before, my name is Remus Terentius. My father is a Magister of the Imperium. Several months ago, I can't recall how many, I took something from him. Something very powerful. Something he valued over everything else, including me._

 _"I won't go into detail about the object, but with it he could gain the capability to destroy Thedas. I am ashamed of the fact that I knew about the thing long before I acted. It wasn't until he murdered my Devin that I finally realized he would stop at nothing in his bid for power and domination._

 _"When I took the object, I thought I had killed him, but I knew that others, his followers, would simply take his place. I couldn't allow that, so I took it, consumed it. Unfortunately, it consumed me as well. I fight against its power, its evil nature every day, every moment while I look for a way to destroy it._

 _"In the interim, I am hunted by my father and his followers. In my search for a cure, I have come across his plans, and they are far worse than I ever imagined. There is an ancient magister buried beneath the ground. With this thing inside me, my father intended to find a way to release that magister and bequeath this power to him. Unfortunately, I have found this power to be much worse than my father imagined. I need help. Help to find the cure. Help to defeat my father."_

 _Miriana shook her head. "I am only a Circle mage. What could I possibly do to help?"_

 _"You are so much more," he told her. "I saw it in your eyes, in your aura, the first time I looked upon you."_

 _"No," Miriana refuted. "I am a Circle mage. Nothing more. In fact, this ship is headed for Kinloch Hold to take me back to the Circle as we speak."_

 _"But your phylactery has been destroyed," Remus argued. "I have ensured no traces of your essence remained on that templar. You can go anywhere you please. You can be free. The captain will be agreeable in altering his course. You need only ask."_

 _"Don't you understand?" asked the young mage. "The Circle saved my life and it protects me. I will not turn my back on it. Mages such as your father are the very reason for its existence. Left unchecked, gifted such as ourselves are capable of unfathomable destruction."_

 _"Anyone is capable of destruction, Miriana," he argued in a faraway voice as his image began to fade from her view. "It is what is in the hearts of men that destroys, not their gifts."_

 _When he had disappeared completely, the young mage sat in quiet contemplation for several moments until the image of a woman made of shimmering silver and dressed in a flowing white gown appeared before her._

 _"Beware of that man, Miriana," Faith told her in an ethereal voice. "He is more dangerous than even he realizes."_

* * *

When darkness began to settle in on the cliffs, Aveline managed to find a small cave that tunneled deep into the walls that the Hawkes' and their new companions could utilize as a shelter for the evening. In their hurry to escape Lothering, the only one of the family who remembered to pack a bedroll was Gabrielle and only because she had readied her things earlier the day of the attack. Because of her age and delicate nature, the children afforded Leandra the sleep sack while they made due with the thin blankets they had brought along.

They set up their makeshift beds by the light of three glowstones Wesley pulled from his pack. The odd stones radiated an eerie lambency throughout the inside of the grotto as its temporary inhabitants maneuvered around the cave. As they settled in, Carver volunteered to take first watch at the entrance to ensure they wouldn't be surprised by any darkspawn or wild animals while they slept. It was an offer uncharacteristically brave for the young man, but Gabrielle expected it had more to do with the fact that her brother was more unnerved by the confined space than he let on.

The weather outside was frigid, and it was at least ten degrees colder in the cavern. Although Wintesend had just passed and it was technically spring, the season that brought warmth to other parts of Thedas was more elusive in Ferelden, especially in the southern half. Gabrielle pulled her father's old wool coat from her pack and wrapped it around her shoulders. It helped, but her teeth still chattered from the dank chill in the air.

More than anything at that moment, the apostate wished for a fire, but she knew it would just smoke them out of the cave. She lit a small flame within her palm to garner at least a semblance of warmth, but a glare from Wesley prompted her to quickly snuff it out. As much as she wanted to defy the templar, she was just too exhausted to argue.

Their evening meal consisted of hardtack and dried pork that Wesley brought along. It tasted like ass and had the consistency of shoe leather. The stuff was difficult to chew and wholly unpalatable, but it was better than nothing and at least eased the hunger pangs in Gabrielle's stomach. No one said a word as they ate. The tension between the travelers hung thick in the air, and the sounds of howling wolves and roaring darkspawn in the distance only added to the unease. By the time she was halfway through her meal, Gabrielle found she could no longer bear the strained atmosphere.

"So," she began. "Aveline…you were at Ostagar?"

"Yes. I'm…" The redhead sighed. "I was in the king's army. My company was on the front lines, part of the first charge. It was a position of honor. I lost a lot of good men out there, but we were holding our own. They were pushing us back, but we continued to fight. When the beacon was lit to signal Loghain's charge, I thought we were saved. I put everything I had into the battle knowing I needed to wait just a little longer for help to arrive. Then, I heard the horns sound the retreat."

Her face took on a haunted quality, intensified by the glow of the lyrium etched stones. "When it happened, I looked around me at all the death and destruction and the vast number of enemy that continued to advance. It was then that I knew my men wouldn't survive the battle, so I did the only thing I knew to do. I ordered them to run…to go home and tell their families of the coming danger. I continued to fight, to try to afford them the chance to get away. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the king fall, and any hope I still had died with him. I ran. Maker help me, I ran like a fucking coward."

She gazed over at her husband. "The only thought in my head then was Wesley. I had to find him, to warn him."

"But with everything going on," the apostate questioned. "How in the void did you find each other?"

"I traveled north toward Redcliffe where he was stationed, but I had to stop to rest. I was at least two days out of Ostagar and hadn't slept or eaten in that time. I was wounded, exhausted, and the cold was taking its toll. . I even had to shed my armor because it was just too heavy to bear anymore.

"I found a cave to hole up in for a few hours, hoping to at least get a little sleep before I started out again. In all honesty, I began to question whether or not I was going to make it at all. I didn't have my pack or any supplies on me, just the sword I carried into battle. I nestled down the best I could in the darkness and shivered against the cold. That night was the first time I prayed in a very long time."

The warrior's body trembled, but more from recollection than chilled bones it seemed. "While I was propped against the wall of that cave, half frozen, a light appeared and I heard the quiet, whispering voice of a woman. It said, ' _Do not be frightened. I will not harm you.'_ Then I saw her…An odd woman, very pale with ebony hair and golden eyes. She wore a long black dress and a heavy black cloak with a hood. A small ball of light floated inches above her head.

"She knelt down next to me and covered me with a blanket, then offered me a piece of hardtack and a canteen of water. She then said _, 'Turn northeast. You will find him there, where the Merchant's Path meets the cliffs_.' Then she disappeared. Right before my eyes."

A cold shiver ran up Gabrielle's spine. The woman in black was an old legend her father told her when she was still a young girl. Most of those tales spoke of a vengeful and malevolent witch who roamed the lands looking for her next victim to torment or use. Malcolm always spoke of the mysterious woman with a hint of bitterness and disdain. He never claimed to have met her personally, but his distaste for the witch was always apparent.

"You met the woman in black?" Leandra asked with bewilderment.

"Maybe," Aveline shrugged. "I've heard the stories. I thought they were bullshit. Tales parents told their children to goad them into behaving. Now," she paused, appearing as if she was contemplating her next words carefully. "I considered not following her directions. I can't explain it, but something kept telling me I should." She chuckled. "Wesley didn't believe me. He said that it was probably just some apostate using blood magic to mess with my head and make me doubt the Chant."

"It was, Aveline" the templar piped in.

His words were followed by a fit of coughing and Gabrielle noticed him swipe a trickle of blackened blood from the right corner of his mouth. Wesley looked to be just inches from death. His skin was pale and mottled and his lips held a light blue hue to them. He was also trembling like a leaf caught in a zephyr, but then again, so was she.

 _Maybe it's just the cold._

The knot in the apostate's stomach refuted her musings. In her heart, she knew it was something more. Her father had a similar look the day of his passing. His skin had been just a bit less dappled than the templar's. Gabrielle had her suspicions as to the man's illness, but she kept that impression to herself.

"What other explanation could there be?" the templar asked in a hoarse voice when he was finally able to speak again.

Aveline's shoulders lifted then dropped. "I don't know. What I do know is, I found you exactly where she told me I would." The warrior returned her attention to the elder apostate. "Anyway, we followed the Merchant's Path back toward the Imperial Highway. Around dusk, we spotted them. The bulk of the horde traveling north from Ostagar. That's when we doubled back toward the cliffs and ran into the stragglers that were broken off from the rest of their ilk. We then trekked east further into the bluffs, fighting the creatures off as best we could and trying to find our way back to the Merchant's Path. That's when we ran into you."

"Shouldn't we have found it by now?" Gabrielle queried. "The Merchant's Path, I mean."

"There are too many darkspawn in that direction now," Aveline explained. "We have to find another way."

"So, we'll have to go through Southron Hills," the mage surmised.

"It looks that way," the redhead confirmed. "We should reach the foothills sometime tomorrow. I'm just hoping to find some sort of path soon. I'm not sure how far into these cliffs the darkspawn have gotten."

The apostate waggled her head before pulling the top of her blanket over her shoulders. She didn't want to think about it anymore, let alone talk about it. It felt like weeks since she had slept and her legs burned from all the running she had done that day.

She rolled over onto her side to face the wall. Her eyes began to grow heavy as her body gave into her need for rest. Her mind, on the other hand, had different plans. Her worries and doubts began to swirl around in her head.

What was to become of them? Even if they were to make it all the way to Gwaren and eventually Kirkwall, what then? She heard her father's voice, his final words to her, echo through her mind.

 _Take care of them, Gabrielle. You're the oldest. It's your responsibility. Your duty is to your family. Never let anything or anyone get in the way of that._

The young apostate felt tears stinging her eyes. _But how, father? How am I supposed to do this? I have no idea what I'm doing. Why did you leave all this to me? Why did you have to die?_

She choked back the sobs that threatened to overtake her and tightened the blanket around her body. She squeezed her eyes tight, willing the tears to go away. Behind her lids, in the darkness, she saw an image of him. Her father stood tall and proud. Not as she remembered him when he died, but younger, younger than she ever recalled seeing him.

When he spoke, his voice was not his usual resonating, deep tone, but softer…kinder. ' _Don't worry,'_ he encouraged. ' _It'll get better. Trust me, Gabs.'_


	27. Something in Common

When Leliana procured the horses on their way out of Lothering, she only managed to haggle with the old farmer enough to gain four of the mounts. Since Solona had no idea how to ride one of the animals, Alistair was kind enough to offer to share his horse with her. It was a bit awkward at first, straddling the pommel with her fellow Warden's groin pressed into her ass and one arm around her waist to steady her. Although it was uncomfortable as the void, having him so close to her made the experience more bearable.

During the ride, the mage tried to muster her composure and dignity as best she could, even though she felt she might fall at any moment. She was grateful that Alistair never made mention of the fact she was such a poor rider. He simply held her closer and corrected her balance with a shift of his arm when she began to slide a bit too much to either side. She knew he couldn't be any more comfortable than she was with the precarious situation, but he never once whined or complained about it. In fact, he had hardly said anything at all.

When Solona tried to make small talk, he never volunteered anything, and when she asked questions, his answers were always short and to the point. Even Morrigan's jabs at his character, intelligence, and smell failed to get a rise out of him. He would simply ignore the witch by urging their horse to trot a little faster to get further out ahead of the woman. After a while, both the mage and the witch finally gave up completely, resolved to the fact that he wasn't interested in conversation or the exchange of insults.

Solona couldn't help but be saddened by the development. Since the night of the battle, the man she considered her dearest friend had left her. There had been the odd moments of recognition of the man she knew on occasion, but any levity between them never broached the sternness in his hazel eyes. She realized the events of Ostagar hit him hard. They were difficult for her as well, but she thought his mood might lighten at least a bit the further away from the ruins they traveled. Instead, it just seemed to become worse.

By the time they stopped to make camp the evening of their second night out of Lothering, the mage's mood was nearly as dark as her riding companion's. She had to do something. It was completely uncharacteristic of her to push anyone to speak when they wished not to, but her concern for Alistair was beginning to overwhelm her. She had lost so much, so many people in her life, that she couldn't bear the thought of losing the tentative connection she and her fellow Warden shared.

Solona ordered Alistair to take first watch for the evening and waited for the others to retire before she attempted to approach him. When everyone else was safely tucked away in their tents, she found her fellow Warden sitting by the fire staring into the flames with a sullen expression and mindlessly running a whetstone across his blade. When she finally ambled over to him, he peered up at her with a sad smile. It was the closest thing she had seen to friendliness from him all day.

He stared at her for a long moment, appearing as if he wanted to tell her something, then turned his attention back to the weapon laying across his lap. Something was wrong, and it was more than just the events of Ostagar. She could see it in his hazel eyes, feel it in her bones.

"Do you mind if I sit with you?" she asked flatly.

Alistair shrugged as he turned the blade to sharpen the other side. "You can sit anywhere you like."

His tone was coarse, making him once again seem completely uninterested in her presence. The coldness of his attitude put a knot in Solona's gut. She clutched the amulet hanging from the chain around her neck as she took a seat next to him.

"You know," she teased. "If you don't stop frowning like that, your face is going to stay that way."

His shoulders and chest shook with a harrumph as he continued his task. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I'll try to put on a happy face for you when I find the time."

The mage rotated her body to face him. "Fine," she huffed. "If you won't tell me what's wrong with you on your own volition, I will simply be forced to order you to talk."

He heaved a perturbed sigh and turned to her with his left brow arched, daring her to pursue that endeavor. Anger and frustration swirled in his darkened eyes, prompting her own temper to flare. She was fed up with his poor attitude and brooding, and she planned to have it out with him. Their conversation would either bring them closer together or sever their ties completely ensuring they were nothing more than traveling companions.

"I offer you this, Alistair," she said with glare. "Either you tell me this instant why you are behaving like a petulant child, or I will make your life so unpleasant, so miserable, you will wish Flemeth never rescued you from that tower.

Solona expected him to fight back. To shout at her. In those brief moments leading up to her threat, she had prepared herself for the worst. Instead, his entire being wilted and his hazel eyes began to glisten. His throat visibly constricted when he swallowed. His tongue raked across his lips as he inhaled a deep breath and held it for a long moment.

With his brow furrowed in penitence, he uttered a quiet, "I'm sorry."

The mage's countenance softened in the light of his words and expression. "I just want you to talk to me," she told him. "I miss you."

They were words Solona never meant to utter. She loathed the idea of anyone knowing her true feelings. It was a lesson she learned long ago after she professed her love to Anders and he responded by feigning sleep and running away two days later. Unfortunately, her confession to Alistair was out in the open, and there was nothing she could do to take it back. Her fellow Warden turned his gaze to the fire.

"We should arrive at Castle Redcliffe in two days," he declared in a soft voice. "I haven't been there in a very long time."

"Missing the stables, are we?" she quipped. "If you're really feeling nostalgic we can always move your tent closer to the horses."

"Funny," he muttered, but there was no hint of mirth in his face or his voice.

She knew right away it was definitely the wrong approach, but she was trying to backtrack against the revealing slip of the tongue she had made. He wet his lips then clamped his teeth down on them. He intended to clam up again, in a worse mood than before. She had to find a way to recover from the setback.

"Why don't we play a game of Confessions?" she suggested.

Alistair's lids constricted as he concentrated harder on the flames. "I don't really feel like games tonight, Solona. Thanks anyway."

She bumped her shoulder against his. "You can ask me anything you want," she prodded. " _Anything."_

His face screwed up in contemplation for a minute before finally giving a satisfied nod. "Alright," he agreed.

" _But,"_ she added. "I get to ask the first question."

Alistair waggled his head with a sigh. "Fine," he bristled before his tone turned sarcastic. "Ask away. I'm an open book."

"So you said Arl Eamon raised you?" Solona queried.

Alistair's sneered upon hearing the question. "Did I say that?" he snarked, his inflection biting and hostile. "I meant that dogs raised me. Giant, slobbering dogs from the Anderfels. A whole pack of them, in fact."

"You're supposed to answer honestly," she reminded him with feigned indifference. "Besides, you didn't allow me time to ask my true question." He indicated for her to continue with a deep frown and a wave of his hand. "I was just wondering why? Was he your father?"

"No," he answered firmly.

"So do you know who…" she began, but he cut her off.

"I answered your question," he maintained. "Now it's my turn."

Solona straightened her shoulders then clasped the pendant that lay against her chest. She already knew what he was going to ask, and she was prepared for it. She had every intention of giving him the same type of reply he had afforded her.

"Very well," she prompted.

He released a slow breath then turned to face her. "You told me before that Anders was your lover. I gathered by your reaction, the memory of him was less than pleasant. What did he do that hurt you so badly?"

 _Damn!_

She should have known better from the last time they played the game. Alistair was much shrewder than he let people believe. She couldn't even get out of it by revealing an embarrassment. She told him she would answer any question he had. She had established the rules at the beginning, and if she attempted to deflect his inquiry, she would lose his friendship. The movement of her thumb increased as it rubbed across the tiny sword and flames on the amulet. She inhaled a deep breath.

"Anders…" she began. "Was my lover. For many years. Six if you count his time in the dungeon and all the times he escaped the tower. Closer to five if you want to be technical. I loved him. From the very first moment I saw him. I was only a girl. Eleven to be exact. He was twenty-two. Of course, he didn't know of my existence at the time. I simply adored him from afar.

"He was the man of my dreams. Tall, blonde, rebellious, charismatic. Larger than life. When I was thirteen, another female apprentice and I crept out of our dormitory to attend a party on the mage's floor where I knew he would be in attendance. I had overheard him speaking about it earlier that day. When we arrived, he was already drunk and high on blood lotus and elfroot. He noticed me from across the room and I encouraged him to approach with a salacious smile. We ended up in the classroom's supply closet that night where I gave him my virginity.

"He was angry as the void when he discovered my age." She shook her head with wistful smile. "I lied to him that night, telling him I was eighteen and had just passed my Harrowing. He confronted me a few days later, and I seduced him by playing with his cock through his robes and kissing his chest. We had sex again. That continued for several weeks. He would tell me he didn't want to see me anymore, that I was far too young, but those meetings always ended in a passionate tryst. After a while, he stopped trying to convince me that he wanted nothing to do with me, and began approaching me for the sole purpose to fuck me.

"That went on until after I turned fifteen. He began to spend more time with me outside of the odd coupling. We became closer. I made the mistake of telling him that I loved him one night. He pretended he was sleeping, but I knew by his breathing he wasn't. Two days later, he was gone.

"When he returned, it wasn't a month before we were together again, but when he felt we were becoming too close, he ran. After the first time he escaped when I was fifteen, he promised me he wouldn't leave me again. He ran from me four times in total, and broke my heart more each and every time. His last escape earned him a year in the tower's dungeons. I haven't seen him since before that escape. I discovered I was pregnant the day he was brought back the last time. I took a potion. He never knew."

Tears began to stream down the mage's cheeks upon that confession. She had no idea why she was telling Alistair of that horrible event of her life, or what prompted her to reveal the details of her relationship with Anders. She had never spoken of it to anyone. Not even Jowan. She was ashamed of both her actions and for so blindly loving a man who would never return her affections. Would never care.

Alistair wrapped a comforting arm around Solona's shoulders and she buried her face into the crook of his neck. He backed away from her long enough to unstrap his steel chestplate and throw it on the ground then immediately took her into his arms and began rocking her gently in his embrace. She clung to him as if her very life depended on it, her sobs muffled by his broad chest. Never in her life had she felt so close to anyone. Not Anders. Not Jowan. Not even her parents.

He put his own troubles aside just to be there for her. No one had ever done anything remotely like that before. It was in that moment, that second when Solona finally realized, she loved Alistair. Even if he never shared her feelings, even if they would never be anything more than just friends. It didn't matter. She was hopelessly, desperately in love with him.

* * *

After nearly turning his entire cabin upside down searching for the chart he needed the previous evening, Garrett made the decision to look elsewhere that morning, but he was unsure where to start. Even his leisurely soak in the tub at the foot of his bed didn't help to clear his head. He needed to go somewhere, do something that would give him a fresh perspective.

Once he was dressed and ready for the day, the captain made his way out of his cabin to head toward the helm. He hadn't gotten two steps out the door, when he spotted Miriana's temporary quarters and stopped. He wanted to see her, to talk to her. They hadn't spoken since she ran into the cabin the previous evening, and he felt the need to apologize for any offense she may have taken to his behavior. Somehow, he felt disturbing her for the mere sake of an apology wasn't excuse enough to bother the lady. He needed another reason to approach her.

The growling of his stomach presented him with the perfect solution. It was still fairly early in the morning, and the captain surmised the young woman probably hadn't eaten. Even if someone had thought to take her breakfast, the meal would have consisted of something Ramirez cooked, so he knew she would still be hungry. Since the galley's larder was well stocked from just leaving port, Garrett would have his choice in what he could prepare for the mage. He wondered if she liked hearthcakes with blueberries. They were a specialty of his, and in truth, his favored morning meal.

When he reached the galley, the captain found Ramirez and the cabin boy, Carlos, scouring pots dirtied from the crew's breakfast. Carlos was small and appeared to be even younger than his thirteen years. His wide mouth was set in a scowl as he scrubbed out a large kettle, one of the duties he detested the most. Ramirez bore a stark contrast to his helper. The man was about one hundred and fifty years old, at least that was he looked to be with the small tufts of white hair over his otherwise balding scalp and flesh so wrinkled it appeared he had stepped into the skin of a man three times his size. When the old man spotted Garrett, he presented his captain with a broad, toothless grin.

"Mornin' Captain," he greeted in his typical croak. "I was gonna have the boy bring up yer meal as soon as we finished the pots."

"It's alright, Ramirez," Garrett reassured him as he made his way to the larder to gather the supplies he needed. "I'll be cooking for myself this morning."

"What about that pretty lady?" the cook inquired. "Will she be needin' a plate delivered?"

"No, mate," the captain informed him. "I've got it covered, but you could send down breakfast to our other guest." Carlos shivered at that order, prompting Garrett to regard the boy with an arch of his brow. "Something wrong, Carlos?"

The young man shrugged. "Sorry, Captain. That guy just gives me the willies."

Garrett gave the cabin boy a light tap to his shoulder. "Don't feel bad, son," he chuckled. "He does the same to me, but he's paid his fare so we have to treat him as we would any other passenger. Unless he does something stupid, that is. Then I'll let you be the one to hold the sword to his back when I make him walk the plank."

Carlos grinned brightly at that suggestion, and began to scrub with renewed purpose. Somehow, Garrett got the feeling the boy hoped Remus would raise the captain's ire so he could perform such a duty. Garrett, on the other hand, wished only for the Tevinter to stay quietly in his cabin and leave both his ship and his crew alone. The whole feel of that bastard was wrong, and the pirate was looking forward to getting rid of him as soon as possible.

As Garrett began to prepare breakfast for himself and Miriana, his vexation over the missing chart returned. The space between his brows disappeared as he concentrated on the problem at hand. His dad always charted everything, every route, every trip. There had to be one for the trek to Calenhad.

"Somethin' botherin' ya, Captain?" Ramirez inquired, bringing Garrett out of his introspection.

He hadn't considered it before, but the cook might have been the key to discovering the whereabouts of the lost map. The old man had been working the _Call_ since before Garrett was born. In fact, he was the one who discovered Garrett in the larder all those years ago. Ramirez may have been as ancient as the tides, but he had the mind of a steel trap.

The younger pirate scowled. "Actually, mate, you might be of some help to me."

"Anything ya need, Captain," the cook said with another wide grin.

"Do you remember that voyage to Lake Calenhad we took about fourteen years ago?" Garrett asked.

Ramirez bobbed his head. "Aye. Marko took that little spit of a girl to the tower," he recalled. "I remember him chewin' over that one for days. He considered just throwin' those bastard templars overboard, but he wasn't sure what he'd do with a little girl on a pirate ship."

The captain had to smile at that revelation. It was just like his dad to contemplate such a thing. The old man may have been a pirate, but he had a soft spot when it came to children and people who were in trouble when they did nothing to warrant the strife. Besides, Captain Marko's hatred of templars and the Chantry was well-known. It was a contempt he passed on to his son.

"Well," Garrett continued. "The fairest of our passengers desires to be taken to the tower, and I'll be damned if I can find the chart that will get us there."

"Did ya check yer old cabin, Captain?" the cook queried. "That cabinet in the corner? That's where old Marko hid the maps he didn't use too often."

Garrett sighed with a waggle of his head. Of course, he should have remembered that. It had been years since he had to peruse that cabinet for charts. He had completely forgotten about it. He only hoped Miriana wouldn't mind his rifling through her quarters to find it.

"Thank you, Ramirez," said the captain with a slight bow of the head. "I knew there was a reason I kept you around." His face contorted in disgust as he spied the plates the old man had laid out for the ship's passengers.

 _It certainly isn't for your cooking._

"Happy to help, Captain," the old man said with a smile, ignoring the younger man's disdain for his culinary skills. "Anytime. Ya know, I remember when I found you." He pointed to the larder. "Right in there. You were wailin' like a siren. Scared the shit right outta me. I thought we mighta picked up a damned demon somewhere along the way." He wagged his head with a chuckle. "But there ya were, layin' there in a crate of bananas with nothin' but a soiled nappy and slip a parchment." His emaciated chest shook as his laugh grew louder. "Those bananas never did taste right."

It was a story Ramirez had relayed to Garrett dozens of times over the years, but it always drew a good laugh from the old man. The captain didn't mind. He was simply grateful the cook had taken him to Marko instead of dumping him over the railing. The old man should have retired years before, but Garrett didn't have the heart to let him go after everything the cook had done for him.

The captain finished his task then placed the two plates of food on a large tray along with a pot of fresh tea and two cups and saucers. He almost wished he had a flower for the center when he presented the meal to Miriana, but that would most likely have been overly trite. Garrett was sure it was something Gerard would have done, but he refused to lower himself to the standard of Varric's imagination again.

 _Damned dwarf._

* * *

Miriana pushed up on the bridge of her spectacles with the tip of her index finger as she perused her favorite book. When she awoke to the light of that morning's dawn, she immediately fished through her pack to locate the text. She wanted to read it the previous day when she left Captain Hawke, but she was feeling too ill to do so.

A sudden rap at the door of her cabin startled the young mage. She quickly removed her eyeglasses and stuffed them under her pillow before jumping to her feet and scurrying to answer the knock. When she opened the door, she had expected to see one of the crew members, possibly even Mr. Martinez, but was instead greeted by Captain Hawke's aquamarine eyes and angular smirk. She sucked in an abrupt gasp and her gaze dropped to concentrate on the silver dagger amulet nestled in his dark hair of his chest.

"Good morning, love," the pirate greeted.

"Good morning, Captain," Miriana replied with a squeak.

The mage was frozen in place under the weight of his presence. Her hands began trembling as she clutched the handle of the door to steady herself and to keep her buckling knees from giving way completely. She only hoped the man couldn't hear the rapid beat of her heart as she tried to catch her breath.

"I thought you might be hungry," he told her. "So, I took the liberty to bring you some breakfast. I hope you find blueberry hearthcakes to your liking."

Miriana's eyes trailed the length of his arm to observe a large tray holding two plates covered by silver domes, a white teapot with delicate gold trim, and two matching cups and saucers. He intended to dine with her in her cabin. Her body began shaking in earnest with that notion. She wanted to open the door wider to allow his entry, but she couldn't seem to will her feet to move.

"Or…" he hesitated. "I could just have the cabin boy bring something to you later if you wish."

 _What are you doing, stupid?_

"N…no," she stammered. "I…I mean…please come in, Captain."

The mage inhaled a deep breath and held it as she finally managed to force two steps backward and open the door wide enough to allow both the pirate and the tray he carried entry. He strode to the small table in the left front corner and began laying out the fare on the heavy wooden surface. When the platter had been emptied, he propped it against the wall. For several moments, Miriana simply watched his graceful and precise movements. Everything about him was perfect. When his task was complete, he took a step toward her and offered his hand.

"Shall we, love?" he asked.

Miriana gave her full attention to the handle gripped within her fingers and mustered enough resolve to push the door closed. After another deep breath, she let loose of the brass and turned to face the pirate. His lips were once again set in a sexy, lopsided grin and there was a slight arc to his left brow as he awaited her response.

With a timid smile, she stepped forward and took his hand. He guided her to the closer of the two chairs at the table and waited to ensure she was comfortable in hers before taking a seat in the other. The captain then removed the domes from the plates and poured two cups of tea.

The mage blushed when a small rumble rose from her stomach upon observing the steam rising from a most delectable looking stack of hearthcakes. The only thing she had eaten in days was the bit of bread she had taken a few nibbles from at the inn where she and the captain met, and that wound up in a bucket the prior evening.

Miriana concentrated on her food as she picked up the silver fork and knife lying next to her plate. With still trembling fingers, she cut a small piece of the pancake and took a bite. It was absolutely delicious. Even if she weren't starving, it was still the best hearthcake she had ever tasted. After she had taken a few bites, Captain Hawke finally broke the silence between them.

"Not too bad, then, love?" he questioned.

She waggled her head with a shy smile, still unable to meet the man's eyes. "It's delightful, Captain. Thank you. My compliments to your ship's cook."

The pirate produced a hearty chuckle. "Trust me, love, Ramirez has never cooked anything that even closely resembles food, let alone anything palatable. I thought your first meal on my lady should be something that wouldn't make you want to throw yourself over the rails."

A small giggle escaped her lips. She had to wonder, if it wasn't' the cook, then who? He was the captain of the ship. Surely he hadn't prepared the meal himself.

 _Don't be stupid, Miri. Gerard would never cook his own meals. He's a pirate captain. He has a crew to perform such tasks._

She looked up to observe him insert a forkful of his own meal into his mouth with the same smile he bore upon greeting her that morning. He studied her thoughtfully as he chewed his food, as if she were a puzzle he was trying to solve. Miriana took a sip of her tea before asking her next question.

"So your cook's assistant, then?" she questioned.

He shook his head. "No, love," he replied as he picked up his own cup. "I'm afraid I'm the guilty party."

The mage nearly choked on her tea upon hearing his admission. She could scarcely believe he had gone to so much trouble for the likes of her. Her book never once mentioned that Gerard cooked, let alone did it so well. She presented him with another smile.

"Thank you, Captain," she said. "But you needn't have gone through so much effort for me."

"No trouble at all, love," he told her. "Most days, I just suffer with Ramirez's concoctions, but I didn't want to put you through that kind of torture. You'd have been begging me to drop you off at the nearest port, and I must admit…I am rather enjoying your company."

Miriana felt her face grow warm, and she was forced to return her attention to her food. Was he being genuine in his compliment or was it just empty flattery? She was so awkward, how could he possibly find pleasure in spending time with her? Before she could stop herself, she gave voice to her inner musings.

"You're so different than I imagined," she whispered.

"How's that, love?" he queried. She peered up to note the puzzlement in his green-blue eyes. "What do you mean by different?"

Her face flushed crimson as she struggled to find the words to best retract the statement she never meant to make. "I…I mean," she hesitated. "For a pirate."

"Oh," he chortled. "Just between you, me, and my lady, I'm not much of a pirate. Leastwise not these days."

She watched his gaze fall to the bed behind her and immediately felt fluttering in her stomach. Miriana held her breath, awaiting a proposal she was certainly not prepared for. Is that why he said he enjoyed her company? So she would allow him into her bed? Could the kindness he showed to her have been leading up to him expecting a more intimate payment for her passage on his ship? Her shoulders slumped. Of course, it was exactly the sort of thing Gerard would do.

He indicated to the piece of furniture with a tilt of his head. "So you read?" he asked.

She exhaled the air she had been holding in her lungs. It was not the question she expected. She immediately chided herself for thinking the worst of the man. So far, he had done nothing to indicate he had any desire for her. Her brow creased when she realized she was actually a bit disappointed.

"Yes," she finally answered.

"I do a bit of reading myself," he told her. "It helps with the downtime on the ship. In fact, one of the walls of my cabin is little more than a bookshelf. You're welcome to borrow any of my books if you'd like."

For the first time since she met him, Miriana really looked at the man sitting before her. Her lids narrowed as she studied his face. His physical description matched Gerard's almost perfectly. He was a bit older than Cirrav Sarthet had written him, but it was to be expected given the age of the book. At the same time, there were differences, subtle, yet glaring. Was it him or not? She had to know. She wrestled past her apprehension to finally ask the question that had been burning in her mind.

"I take it Hawke is a surname?" she inquired, hoping he wouldn't be offended by her forwardness.

"Yes," he replied with an uneven grin. "My given name is Garrett. Terrible moniker for a pirate. So, I decided to drop it in favor of Hawke."

"I think Garrett is a lovely name," the mage said with a smile. "But I suppose it isn't very piratey."

The captain shrugged. "You can call me Garrett, if you prefer. I certainly don't mind the sound of it coming from _your_ lips."

She blushed. "Thank you, Cap…Garrett. And you may call me Miri, if you wish."

His smile broadened. "Miri, hmm?" He paused to take another sip from his cup. "Well, Miri, I'm curious. What kind of stories do you like? I prefer a good mystery myself, but I have all sorts of books."

"I like adventures," she replied, she leaned forward in her seat, her timidity completely forgotten in light of the topic of their conversation. "Epic tales of heroes and the struggles they face as they fight malevolence and evil. And stories of pirates on the open sea battling great storms and the creatures of the deep."

"I'm afraid it's not all that exciting most of the time, love," he admitted. "Most days, it's just sailing calm waters and praying to the spirits that you catch a fair wind to your next port of call. But there's a freedom to the sea that I wouldn't trade for all the gold in Thedas."

The mage ran her fingers across the rim of her teacup. "I suppose I must sound rather childish to you," she whispered with a morose frown.

"Not at all, love," he assured her. When she peered up at him he gave her a wink. "I never said there weren't any adventures." He leaned back in his chair with cup and saucer in hand and took another sip before asking, "So what's your favorite book?"

She grinned. "It's called, _The Pirate Gerard_. My father gave it to me as a present for my last birthday before I was taken to the Circle." Garrett answered her admission with a roll of his eyes. "Did I say something wrong?" she asked.

"No," he sighed. "Let's just say, I'm not a fan. The dwarf who wrote those books is a friend of mine. I was less than pleased when he used my ship and my image for his own profit. Piracy at its finest, if you ask me."

"I knew it," Miriana whispered then quickly covered her mouth in hopes he hadn't heard.

The annoyed expression he wore altered to another friendly smile. "I have the entire collection in my cabin, if you're interested, signed by the author. Every time he finishes one, he sends me an advanced copy. I don't know why I've kept them, except for the fact that they might become valuable someday on Varric's hopefully untimely demise."

"There are more than just the one?" the mage inquired, unable to hide her excitement even in the light of the captain's obvious distaste for the books.

"Six in all," he told her as he set his cup and saucer back on the table. "I'll send the second volume along with Carlos when he comes to gather the dishes." He pointed to a small cabinet in the opposite corner. "For now, though, if you don't mind, I need to look through that cabinet for a chart. Then I'll be out of your hair."

Miriana's shoulders slumped with a small sigh. Her enthusiasm over the tales of Gerard had obviously agitated the captain. She hadn't meant to upset him. It was the last thing she wanted to do. It figured. She was just beginning to grow more comfortable in his presence and then completely mucked it up.

"Of course, Captain," she said with a slight shrug as he made his way to the opposite corner.

She assumed her offense earned a retraction of his earlier offer to refer to him by his given name. He rifled through the cabinet a few minutes and withdrew a large piece of parchment. After scanning it for a long moment, he rolled it up and strode back to the table. He took her hand and bowed before placing a soft kiss on her knuckles.

"Thank you, love," he said with a smile then let go of her hand as he returned to his full height. "For allowing me to invade your privacy and for sharing a meal with me. And it's Garrett, remember?"

Miriana's cheeks flushed as she returned his grin. "If you're certain…Garrett."

"Of course I'm certain, love," he reiterated. "Perhaps we can speak later? If you don't mind the company of an old pirate."

"That would be lovely, Garrett," she answered. "I look forward to it."


	28. If I Die Young

Gabrielle had been silent since they left the cave that morning and headed back out into the cliffs toward Southron Hills. They still hadn't found a real road as they walked the small, winding paths through the rock, but the apostate hardly noticed. She just couldn't stop turning the dream she had the previous evening over in her head.

The man she saw looked like her father…the same ebony hair, the same aquamarine eyes, the same height and build, the same understanding smile she had seen the man give her mother hundreds of times. It had to be her father, but, then again, it couldn't be.

Malcolm had never called her Gabs, not once, in her entire life. The only one who had ever called her that was Bethany. And the voice…that was certainly not his voice. Then there were the words he spoke. Gabrielle's father would never say anything of the sort. It sounded more like something her sister would say, but she couldn't recall Bethany ever saying those exact words. Then there was the feel of the entire thing…so real, so close, yet far away. It seemed more a vision than an actual dream. But why? What did it mean? What could it mean?

"What's wrong with you today, Gabs?" Bethany asked, interrupting her sister's introspection.

Gabrielle shook her thoughts away. "Nothing, Bethie. I'm just tired."

The younger woman scrutinized her sibling with narrowed lids. "There's more to it than that."

The older apostate presented a halfhearted smile. "Don't worry about it, Bethie. I'm fine. I'm always fine. You know that."

"And every time you say that," her sister proclaimed. "It means the exact opposite."

"I don't know," Gabrielle countered with a grimace. "I guess I'm wondering why we haven't encountered any darkspawn today. It's weird. I mean, you can hear them all around us, but we haven't seen even one."

It wasn't exactly a lie. It was something Gabrielle was considering when she was attempting to drive away the thoughts of her strange dream. She would have told Bethany about her vision, but somehow, it felt wrong to reveal it to anyone.

"Hawke," Aveline called out from a few yards away.

After a shrug of apology to Bethany, Gabrielle jogged ahead to Aveline's position, grateful to the warrior for providing an excuse to evade her sister's line of questioning. Gabrielle knew her younger sibling would drag it out of her eventually if she continued asking her about it.

"What is it, Aveline?"

The redheaded woman pointed to a path leading up to a large, flat outcropping to their right. "I'm thinking we should head up there so we can get a better view of our position and scout for nearby enemies."

"Sounds like a plan," Gabrielle agreed.

She beckoned to the others to follow as she fell in step behind the warrior. So far that day, they had been lucky enough not to run into anything more than a couple of wolves, which Aveline, Carver and Gabrielle readily dispatched. A glance over her shoulder prompted the apostate to waggle her head with dismay. What a ragtag bunch they all were. She, Aveline, and Carver could hold their own well enough, but the others were a bit of a liability in a battle.

Leandra had no martial skill whatsoever and served as more of a distraction to Gabrielle than anything else. During a fight, the apostate had to constantly keep an eye on her mother to make sure the woman didn't get hurt. Bethany was an excellent healer, and Gabrielle couldn't think of anyone she would want around more in the aftermath of a battle, but her offensive magic spells left a lot to be desired. The younger apostate could throw a winter's grasp well enough, but it never did a lot of damage. Bethany had always been hesitant about killing anything, anyway. It just wasn't in her nature to harm another creature, and that shined through in her casting. Then there was Aveline's husband, Wesley. Gabrielle was certain he was a capable warrior, but the injuries he sustained when they first met and his worsening illness kept him from the fight.

 _Stubborn ass_ , Gabrielle muttered under her breath upon observing the templar in the far rear.

The sickly grey, maculated skin, the blackish-blue hue of his lips, the violent shaking…Gabrielle had seen it before and knew exactly what it meant. At first, she tried to convince herself his symptoms were from a combination of blood loss and the frigid Ferelden air, but by the time they left the cave that morning, she knew better. Wesley had contracted the darkspawn taint.

If the templar had allowed Bethany to heal him instead of being so hung up on the evils of magic, he may have had a chance at survival. As it stood, Gabrielle was sure he wouldn't last through to the next morning. Ending his suffering would have been kinder than allowing him to continue to deteriorate under the taint, but the apostate wouldn't dare broach _that_ subject with Aveline.

When they reached their destination and everyone was safely and solidly atop the plateau, Gabrielle removed her waterskin from her belt and swallowed the last few drops within. The sun overhead felt good as it warmed her skin against the cool breeze blowing around her. It seemed true spring might come early in Ferelden for a change.

Aveline addressed the others. "We should be relatively safe in this position for now. Everyone rest up while I scout ahead."

Carver immediately removed the pack from his shoulders and threw it on the ground at his feet to utilize it as a makeshift seat. After settling himself on it, he took out his waterskin, uncorked it, and groaned loudly when he found it empty.

"Sooner or later we're going to have to find a stream or something. I'm out of water."

"So am I," Bethany said as she checked Leandra's pouch. "As is mother."

"Me too," Gabrielle concurred before trying to squeeze any bit of moisture she could from her own waterskin. "Hopefully, Aveline can locate something from up here."

"She better," Carver griped. "Otherwise we won't make it through the rest of the day."

Not in the mood to listen to Carver's oncoming tirade of complaints, Gabrielle made her way to the other side of the ridge to join Aveline. As she approached the edge, she observed a wide path to the right leading down into a narrow valley surrounded by more cliffs. There were no streams or lakes to be found, just more of the same rock walls they had been trekking through for days. Beyond that was the burgeoning of what Gabrielle assumed was Southron Hills. Scattered along the foothills, she made out what looked to be a forest which had been burned, the trunks still smoldering from a recent fire.

"See anything?" the mage asked, but Aveline just ignored the question.

The redhead seemed to be concentrating on something she couldn't see near the bottom of the newly discovered path. With hands on her hips, the warrior scanned the area below through lids narrowed against the morning sun. After a few moments, her head jerked toward Gabrielle.

"Run," she ordered as she spun on the ball of her left foot to go back the way they came.

Gabrielle turned to follow when the ground below began to rumble and quake, throwing her off-kilter. As she tried to regain her balance, her foot slipped on some loose stones, sending her leg over the side of the rise. When the bottom of her rib cage caught the edge of the cliff, she had the wind knocked out of her. The pain was excruciating as her legs dangled over the side of the rock. She shut her eyes for only a moment to hold back the sting of tears forming in them. When she opened them, her heart nearly stopped upon seeing the horns of a massive ogre bounding up the trail on the other side of the plateau.

While Aveline was still running toward it, Carver charged the beast, but it quickly knocked him flat. Gabrielle dug her fingers into the dirt then threw her right leg up and back onto solid ground. As she scrambled to find her feet, she saw Bethany slam her staff onto the ground to charge its magic.

"Bethie!" she cried out to her sister who was within feet of the creature. "Stop!"

As the ogre reached down to grab Carver, Bethany threw a winter's grasp at it, which glanced off the beast's shoulder. The oversized darkspawn turned its attention to the young apostate who was attempting to lead it away from her twin. She only managed a few steps before it thrust its arm forward and snatched her up by the waist.

Gabrielle willed her short legs to move faster as she raced toward the beast, but they simply wouldn't comply. How was she ever going to make it in time to save her sister? Then, just as the creature lifted the girl in the air, Aveline thrust her sword into its side.

 _Thank the Maker. Maybe that will buy me enough time._

Gabrielle half expected the ogre to drop Bethany and focus on Aveline, but it didn't. Instead, it used its free hand to land a hard fist to the warrior's shoulder and let out a guttural roar. The creature turned its face to the young woman in its grip, and in an instant, tightened its fingers to snap her spine like a twig. The sound of the break echoed throughout the cliffs as Gabrielle skidded to a halt.

"No!" she screamed.

Time slowed to a crawl in Gabrielle's vision as Carver sliced the blade of his greatsword across the back of the ogre's thighs. It howled in pain then furiously slammed its prize into the ground twice and hurtled the girl's body several feet to its right like an angry child with a rag doll. Carver rolled out the beast's way, prompting it to take a charging stance.

Rage filled Gabrielle as she called forth a grease spell. As much as she hated her brother at times, she wasn't about to let that thing take another member of her family. She threw out her palms and doused the creature in thick, viscous liquid, taking care not to hit her sibling with it.

"Hey! Jackass!" she bellowed, her words echoing through the cliffs as she grew a massive fireball between her hands. "Over here."

The creature had just enough time to turn toward Gabrielle before she launched the flame spell at its head with the aid of force magic. Within seconds, the beast's skin was burning and smoldering and the acrid stench of roasting darkspawn permeated the air. The ogre cried out in agony as it began reeling and lurching about.

Aveline used the tip of her longsword to help pull herself to her feet. Once she was at her full height, she gripped the hilt of her blade like a spear and launched it toward the addled creature. The sword hit its mark when it embedded in the hollow of the beast's throat. It lumbered back a few steps, pawing at the blade, before finally crashing to the ground in a fiery, smoking heap.

As Gabrielle made her way to where her mother was cradling Bethany on her lap, she suddenly became aware of the aching in her legs from the pounding they took against the side of the cliff. She seethed in pain as she limped her way toward Leandra. The blood trail on the ground and the pool of crimson beneath the two women relayed the grim truth of the situation. Bethany was gone.

The apostate stood over her baby sister for several moments, just staring down at the lifeless body of the kindest person she ever knew. The only thing she could hear beyond the pounding of her own heart in her ears was her mother's muffled cries. Gabrielle was in complete shock as she looked into her sister's dead, brown eyes. She took in the rest of Bethany's face…the rivulets of blood still trickling from her lips and nose, the smoothness of her pallid skin against the crimson, the expression of shock and terror. It was too much.

Gabrielle took a step back then turned her head in time to begin retching onto the dirt next to her worn brown boot. She felt a hand grip her shoulder as she continued to dry heave.

"I'm sorry, Hawke, but we have to go," she heard Aveline's voice from somewhere far away. "I saw a bevy of spawn on the other side down below. That fight would have drawn their attention."

The mage turned to Leandra who rocked gently back and forth as she held onto her daughter for dear life. The older woman's shoulders rose and fell with her uneven breathing, and the lines of her face were deeper than Gabrielle had ever seen them. Leandra let out a guttural cry.

"Mother, please," the apostate finally managed through her own tears. "You heard Aveline. They'll be upon us any second. Bethany wouldn't want her sacrifice to have been in vain."

Leandra jerked her head toward her eldest child, her face contorted with enmity and grief. "She should have never been in a position to sacrifice herself in the first place. It was your responsibility, Gabrielle. _She_ was your responsibility. You should have been there instead of traipsing off. This is your fault. Your sister is dead and it's all your fault!"

Those words were like a knife plunged straight into Gabrielle's heart. For most of her life, ever since she was barely more than five, her younger brother and sister had been put in her charge. She learned to change nappies and feed them goat's milk whenever her father would leave to find work while her mother was confined to her bed by the blues. She learned to scramble eggs to feed herself and the twins when they were old enough for solid food. When they were big enough to venture outside, Gabrielle was tasked with keeping them out of trouble and ensuring their safety. The twins were always Gabrielle's responsibility. Mother was right. Bethany was dead and it was her fault.

"I'm sorry, Mother" the apostate whispered.

Leandra shook her head and brushed Bethany's dark hair back away from her forehead. "Sorry isn't going to bring your sister back," she choked. "Just as it didn't bring your father back."

Gabrielle blanched from her mother's accusation, just as she always did, but it was much worse this time with her sister lying on the ground near her feet. Leandra was right on both counts, of course, but it was beyond cruel for her to bring up Father at that moment. As Ser Wesley said a prayer over Bethany to commend her body to the Maker, Gabrielle recalled the words her sister said the day her father died three years before.

 _"I know what you're thinking, Gabs. This wasn't your fault. It was nobody's fault. Father tried, I tried. There was nothing that could be done."_

The apostate knew in her heart her sister was only trying to make her feel better that day. Would she believe the same now that Gabrielle failed her too? The truth was, Gabrielle could put the blame on no one but herself. She knew the danger of those cliffs, the creatures which had been roaming among them, following them for days. She should have never left her family's side. Not even for a moment.

"We have to find something to carry her on," Leandra croaked. "We can't just leave her here for those monsters."

"There's no time," Aveline insisted. "Even if we could find a way to do it, carrying a dead body will only slow us down."

"How can you be so cold?" the other woman questioned.

I'm sorry, mistress, but your daughter is gone," Aveline replied, her tone a bit gentler. "It's a hard truth, but our lives are more valuable than her corpse."

Leandra opened her mouth to argue with the warrior, but Aveline held up a hand to silence her. The pounding of footsteps and the growls of dozens of beasts began to grow louder. The redhead unsheathed her sword.

"Dammit!" she cursed. "We're too late." She looked to Gabrielle and then to Carver. "Prepare for battle," she ordered before addressing the other two. "Hide!"

All at once, over the rise, on both sides of the plateau, hurlocks and genlocks began pouring in. Within moments, they found themselves surrounded. Gabrielle pulled her staff from her back then transferred it to her left hand. She called a ball of flame to her right and took a battle stance.

They were going to die. There was no doubt in her mind of that fact, but she wasn't about to go out without taking as many of the creatures with her as she could. A hurlock bounded toward her, blade drawn to run her through. The spell contained in her palm grew hotter, brighter.

"Bring it, you bastard," she taunted the beast with a sneer.

Before Gabrielle could release the flame, a tremendous roar reverberated throughout the cliffs from somewhere above. The confused darkspawn stopped in their tracks and began searching the sky for the source of the sound. Gabrielle looked to the top of the cliff on her left in time to see an enormous dragon as it abandoned its perch and dove toward the creatures below.

The sleek black talons of its hands opened and snatched the hurlock that had been advancing on Gabrielle. The beast was as big as a house, leaving them all in shadow as it soared high into the atmosphere, the iridescent red scales along its side glinting with varying shades of dark pink and purple in the midday sun.

Once aloft several hundred feet, the dragon flipped midair and turned loose the hurlock which plummeted to the ground below. When it descended the second time, it spread its expansive jaws and delivered a steady torrent of silver-white flame from its mouth to saturate the spawn with fire as it sailed across the battleground.

Within minutes, every tainted creature was ablaze. The behemoth alit in the midst of the chaos and used its expansive tail to begin sweeping the darkspawn from the ground like balls of dust with a broom. Screams of the beasts and the stench of burning rotted meat pervaded the atmosphere as one creature after another fell in great, smoldering heaps.

Satisfied that all the darkspawn had been exterminated, the dragon finally turned its attention to the humans. The massive beast took a step toward Gabrielle and lowered its head to stare her straight in the eyes. There was something almost human about those cat-like golden orbs. There was also something ancient, older than the very rocks around them.

The mage gulped back the bile trying to escape her throat. She experienced both fear and unbridled power unlike any she had ever known in that moment as she gazed into the abyss that surely awaited her with the swipe of the creature's talons. She attempted to call her magic, to fight her inevitable doom, but found her gift somehow blocked from her. How was that even possible?

The dragon lifted its head then rose to its full, towering height. Suddenly, its wings were bathed in a bright, golden glow. The light, retaining the shape of wings, began to swirl around the beast's body. The creature appeared to shrink into itself as the lambency surrounding it revolved faster. Within the incandescence, the dragon began to morph into the shape of what looked to be a crouched woman with a pair of large horns atop her head.

As the light faded, the image of the woman became clearer until the beast disappeared. She rose from her bow and began sauntering toward them, her hips swaying like a seductress luring her prey. What at first looked to be horns was actually silver hair pulled up and back into thick spikes bound tightly by maroon leather bands. The remainder of her tresses cascaded loosely about her shoulders, ruffling in a zephyr no one else present could feel.

On her brow was a bronzed crown that jutted into points above her head and at the bridge of her nose then curved around her hairline to form prongs at the hollows of her cheeks. Her fair skin was smooth except for the fine lines etched around her eyes and the corners of her mouth, divulging a woman of years she tried to hide with dark makeup at her lids and lips

On her body, she wore tight leather armor the same color of the dragon's scales with silver studs along the bodice and gorget. The chestpiece was sleeveless and cut low enough to reveal a pair of ample, alabaster breasts, mimicking an evening gown more than armor. Pauldrons of long, black raven's feathers adorned her shoulders, adding to the effect. The heavy plate cowters at her elbows appeared to form tiny dragon wings covering vambraces and rebraces made of the same strong metal, and the fingers of the long anodized gauntlets she wore simulated sharp steel talons.

Her legs bore greaves made of the same material as that covering her arms and continued up to just past the middle of her thighs. The tops of her thighs were bound in black leather which formed to her figure like a second skin. From her waist, beneath her leather top, flowed a silken loincloth of the same hue as her chestpiece. It formed a v shape in the front and spilled out into a long wide train in the back which billowed out behind her in the breeze she seemed to be creating.

She stopped several feet ahead of them, shifted her weight to her right leg, and put a hand to her hip.

"Well, well" she spoke in a deep, throaty voice. "It appears I have visitors."

Gabrielle took a step forward. Her knees were trembling, but she knew she couldn't allow the woman to see her fear. To counterbalance her anxiety, the apostate folded her arms over her chest and lifted her brow in a bored expression.

"Nice trick," she huffed. "Am I supposed to be impressed?"

The left corner of the woman's mouth turned into a smirk. "Trust me dear girl, I am impressive enough with or without your approval," She took two more strides toward the small woman. "By the pounding of your heart, I would say my sudden presence affected you more than you wish me to believe." She turned to face away from Gabrielle. "I will tell you, if it is your wish to flee the darkspawn, you should know you are heading in the wrong direction." She peered at the young apostate from over her shoulder. "It is a state of affairs you know quite well, is it not, lass?"

Gabrielle swallowed past a huge lump. Her heart was thundered like a spring storm. How in the Maker's name did this woman know? The apostate's eyes widened when she finally realized who the strange woman was. The legend of Flemeth was even older than that of the Woman in Black.

"You're the Witch of the Wilds," Gabrielle breathed.

The woman whirled gracefully around, her loincloth floating about her like the petals of a lotus flower caught in the wind. Her grin broadened. The gesture didn't reach her raptor-like eyes.

"You are visibly impressed now, I see," she cackled. "Your father had much the same look about him on his last visit to the Wilds."

Gabrielle's brow furrowed with confusion. "My father?"

"I thought that might garner your attention," she taunted. "He became lost in the dark and came to my doorstep. I offered him a deal in exchange for my help to lead him out of the Wilds." She took another stride forward until she was towering over Gabrielle with a malevolent smirk. "I will offer you the same. I will lead your group to Gwaren in exchange for your oath. It is but a trifle I ask of you. A small task that will take you no time at all."

The apostate eyed the ancient woman with suspicion. She learned from her father long ago that nothing good ever came out of making deals with witches. On the other hand, she had to wonder if a deal he made with this witch had something to do with his death.

Her eyes trailed to the remaining members of her family. Mother and Carver were all that was left. They were out of food and water, and there was no telling how long it would be before they found the necessities they so desperately needed. They were her responsibility and she wouldn't let them perish to starvation or to the darkspawn. She would do whatever was necessary to ensure their survival. She took a deep breath.

"I give you my word," she conceded. "If you lead my family and I to the shores of Gwaren, I will do whatever you require of me."

"Gabby!" Carver seethed. "She's a witch. You can't trust her."

"Shut the fuck up, Carver," she retorted. "We need help, and unless _you_ can turn into a dragon and take on all these darkspawn by yourself, you'll let me do what needs to be done.

Flemeth watched the siblings with curiosity as they argued, but she did not interrupt. When she was satisfied the argument was at an end, she focused her gaze on Gabrielle alone. Her lids narrowed as she appeared to stare into the recesses of a distant future. Her timeless, golden eyes danced with omens untold and untellable. Within them, Gabrielle swore she recognized a flash of the vision of her father she had the previous evening.

After what felt like an eternity, the ancient woman took Gabrielle's hand. The cold, sharp, armored claws of the witch's gauntlet pried her fingers open before laying a silver necklace with a large amulet in her palm. In the center of the piece was a sizable amethyst with red smoke that appeared to swirl about within. It was ice cold to the touch and the entire object tingled with ancient magic. The feel of it in her palm made Gabrielle sick to her stomach, so she quickly shoved into a small pouch on her belt and cinched it closed.

"You will deliver that amulet to a Dalish Keeper named Marethari. She will wait for you outside the city of Kirkwall. Do as she asks with it, and your debt will be considered paid."

"You'd go through all that just to have an amulet delivered?" Carver questioned. "There has to be more to it than that."

Gabrielle threatened him silently with a murderous glare. His mouth was going to get them all in trouble, if not killed outright. He wasn't a mage. Maybe he couldn't feel the tremendous draw of the Fade around the woman.

 _Or maybe he's just an idiot._

He obviously didn't consider the fact that Flemeth didn't need to be told where they were headed or of their ultimate destination. The only other person who even knew Gabrielle intended to lead them to Kirkwall was Bethany. Carver didn't even challenge the witch's mention of their father. He questioned none of it. He was simply too caught up on pretending he was in charge to consider anything beyond his frail pride.

"I have," the witch replied with what seemed a wistful smile. "An appointment to keep."

Her eyes moved from Gabrielle to the templar lying on the nearby ground. "Before I take you anywhere, however, there is another matter."

Gabrielle already knew of what the witch spoke. The darkspawn taint was ravaging Wesley's body and taking him along put all their lives in danger. It was a sad truth, but he was dying and there wasn't anything anyone could do to stop it. Aveline stepped between Flemeth and her husband.

"No," she exclaimed. "You will not touch him."

"The curse of the darkspawn is within his blood already," the ancient woman told her. "You saw it at Ostagar among your men. You have known it to be true since the first sign."

"She's right, Aveline" Wesley croaked. "I can feel the corruption inside me. All that blood. I knew when it happened."

Aveline's face contorted in anguish. "I know," she whispered. She turned pleading green eyes to the witch. "Isn't there anything that can be done for him…besides…"

"He _could_ become a Grey Warden," Flemeth informed her. "But I fear I have neither the power nor inclination to perform that task."

"Then there's no hope," Aveline sighed as her head and shoulders drooped. "All the Wardens died at Ostagar with the king."

"Not all of them," Gabrielle argued. "There were some in Lothering the day it was attacked."

"Headed in the opposite direction, lass," the witch reminded her. "They are too far beyond your reach now."

Wesley struggled to sit up. "Aveline, listen to me."

She waggled her head as she knelt at her husband's side. Fresh tears began staining her cheeks. Gabrielle felt her own eyes stinging at the sight of such a strong woman facing such a difficult deed.

"You can't ask me this," she refused. "I won't…I can't."

"Please, love," he begged. "The corruption is a slow death. I can't bear it."

Aveline caressed his cheek and gazed adoringly into his eyes. Gabrielle crouched at the templars other side and pulled her father's old dagger from its sheath at her belt.

"I'll do it," she offered in a low voice.

The redhead nodded then turned her face. The young mage exhaled a long, uneven breath before placing the point of the dagger above Wesley's heart. He wrapped his own fingers around hers.

"Thank you," he breathed before guiding her hands forward to help plunge the blade into his chest.

As much as she despised templars, Gabrielle couldn't help but allow her tears to flow freely when Wesley gasped his final breath. They had all already lost too much, and their journey was only beginning. How much more would be taken from them? Aveline swiped at her eyes and cheeks and sniffled.

"Let's go," she told the others.

The redhead stood then turned to amble away, unable to look into her husband's lifeless eyes any longer. Gabrielle closed the templars lids to give the illusion he was only sleeping. She choked back a sob.

"I'm sorry," she whispered before rising to her feet.

She approached Aveline, unsure of what she would say to the other woman. What could she say to possibly make it any better? They were both feeling the loss of a loved one. She knew by her own experience that there were no words to soothe a wound so freshly made. Still, she felt she should say something. Before she could speak, however, Flemeth interjected with an ancient and timeless voice.

"Your journey has only begun, lass." She turned on her heel and walked toward the path on the other side of the plateau. "It gets no easier from here."


	29. The Beastie

Garrett was agitated as he made his way to his cabin that evening. He had meant to stop by and see Miriana again that day, but by the time he was able, it was late and he feared disturbing her rest. He only hoped he made up for it a bit when he sent Carlos to fetch her the rest of the Gerard books and ensured she would be given nothing but cold sandwiches for her meals. To anyone else, the gesture would most likely be deemed as uncouth, but Garrett knew he was doing the lady a favor in the long run.

The day had been a beast after he left the mage's quarters. Every time he turned around, a rigging snapped or one of the crew injured themselves in a freak accident. The worst part of the afternoon came in the form of a lyrium crazed goat that somehow got into the hidden cargo hold, chewed through one of the crates, and began munching on the magical powder. Ramirez apologized profusely for the animal's behavior and swore he had tied the thing up properly at the start of the voyage, but the damage had already been done.

Garrett was beginning to wonder if the _Call_ had taken on a curse, and he was fairly certain that curse was in the form of the man occupying the tiny cabin off the cargo hold. Without proof, however, there was nothing he could do about it. A wall of heavy storms prevented the ship from nearing the coastline so the captain could rid himself of his Imperial passenger. It seemed as long as they stayed their course, the weather in their immediate vicinity held out.

When he arrived at his cabin, the captain found Martinez leaning against the door. His thick, bare arms were folded across his broad chest and his overly extensive right leg was crossed over his left. Nearing three inches taller than Garrett, the blonde man was the tallest the captain had ever seen outside of the Qunari, and he often joked his first mate's great grandfather must have been a giant who mated with a dwarf.

"Mister Martinez," Garrett greeted with a scowl. If the man aimed to inform him of more trouble on the ship, the captain didn't want to hear it. "What can I do for you this not so fine evening?"

His first mate gave a slight tilt of his head in lieu of a bow. "Captain," he acknowledged. "We have a slight problem."

Garrett ran his jeweled hand down the length of his face and heaved a sigh. "Whatever it is, Martinez, take care of it. It's been a demon of a day all around, and I can't deal with anymore bullshit."

The captain hoped his words would be enough to sway his most valued crewman, but the large man refused to move from his door. "Some of the men are beginning to grouse about our passengers and our route. It seems we've had no end of trouble since they boarded yesterday. Laurette won't go near the cargo hold with that Tevinter down there and the crew's rightly pissed about the goat."

"I know, mate," Garrett acknowledged. "I'm none too happy about any of it myself, to be honest."

"Those storms along the coast have got the men coming unhinged," Martinez said as he turned his gaze toward the gale just a few knots off the portside. "It's almost as if the sea is trying to tell us something, don't you think?"

"Give me one more day, Martinez," the captain requested. "I never got the chance to speak to our female guest again after breakfast. She's the only reason we're going this way in the first place. I'm hoping to convince her to stay on and then we can veer toward Denerim before sunset tomorrow."

"What about the Tevinter?" the other man asked.

"As soon as we find a way into port, any port, I intend to give that bastard the boot," Garrett confessed.

Martinez pushed himself away from the door to his full height. "I'll inform the men, then, Captain," he said as he lumbered toward the trap door that led to the lower decks.

While his first mate had a tendency to worry at times, Garrett had never seen the man quite that vexed. Next to Fergus, Martinez was his best friend, and the things the man didn't say troubled the captain more than any words he uttered. He knew what Martinez was thinking, he could see it written in the tall man's blue eyes. Crews had mutinied over less. No matter how loyal or how well paid, Garrett's men were still pirates, and they would only take so much abuse and worry before they rebelled.

* * *

 _"Lady, Miriana."_

 _A soft voice whispered her name from somewhere in the dark. Wherever she was, her surroundings were pitch black. Not even the hint of light permeated the gloom. The mage closed her eyes and called Lumia, but the tiny wisp was nowhere to be found. In fact, Miriana couldn't touch her magic at all. She released a heavy sigh._

 _"Is there something I can do for you, Master Remus?" she asked._

 _At first, she saw nothing but his form, bathed in the glow of the same crimson light that always seemed to envelop him in the Fade. Slowly, her surroundings began to shift and sway until she found herself on the deck of the ship where Remus was leaning against the rail at her side. He straightened his back then turned to face her. When his eyes locked to hers, she could see tendrils of red smoke swirling within the light blue of his irises. The effect was both haunting and terrifying._

 _"Please," he requested. "Call me Remus. "I haven't been Master Remus in some time. Not since I left the house of my father."_

 _His lids narrowed as he studied her face. A pensive smile curled his lips as he brushed a loosened tendril of Miriana's hair away from her brow and tucked it behind her right ear. Her entire being shivered against his touch, but she was powerless to stop it. She was unsure if they were in her dream or his. Either way, he maintained full control._

 _Remus leaned toward her, his face inches from hers, lips parted ever so slightly. He intended to kiss her. Miriana tried to shy away, to thwart his advances, but found she was unable to move even a muscle. Just before his mouth made contact with hers, he backed away with an apologetic smile._

 _"Forgive me," he said. "I am being too forward. It's just that you remind me so much of my Devin." He turned his attention back to the black waves of the Fade-born sea. "She was the love of my life. I miss her, every day more than the last. You can't imagine the pain of loving someone that much just to have them ripped away from you."_

 _The Tevinter propped the weight of his upper body against the rail with his forearms. "Some say time heals all wounds, but my experience has taught me that sentiment holds false. I began to think nothing would ever stay the agony of my broken heart…" He turned his gaze to her again, but did not otherwise move. "Until the first time I laid eyes upon you."_

 _Miriana's knees faltered under the weight of his confession. Remus thought he was in love with her. She could see it in his stare. Even more twisted was the fact that he seemed to expect her to return his affections, as if his forcing his way into her unconscious visions would eventually convince her to see him in a different light. She wanted to speak, to let him down gently, but found he maintained control of everything in that place, including her._

 _"There is a light, an aura about you, that draws me," he confessed. "I can't explain it. Every time I look at you, I can't help but feel that you are the balm for my soul. The cure for my curse."_

 _He stood once again and took her hand. Miriana didn't attempt to withdraw it. She knew the effort would have been in vain._

 _"I know what you are thinking," he told her. "But I am no mad man, nor am I a fool. I realize you don't share my feelings…for now. I only ask you to give me a chance. Open your mind and your heart. At least allow me the opportunity to win your favor. The captain, that pirate…he will never see you the way I do. He will never understand or appreciate your true beauty, your essence, the light you hold inside you."_

 _The young mage swallowed against her fear. There was only one way out of the dream, only one way to break the hold he had over her. She would have to comply with his wishes, at least in that place. She nodded her head._

 _"Very well, Remus," she murmured as she stared down at the icy fingers wrapped around hers. "I will consider your words."_

 _He flourished a bow. When he returned to his full height, she was greeted with his hopeful smile. He lay a soft kiss on her knuckles and a shiver ran up her spine. His lips felt cold, lifeless against her skin, bearing a stark contrast to the warmth of Garrett's kiss._

 _The moment Remus began to walk away from her, a murky fog began to swirl around Miriana's legs and proceeded to engulf her entire body until she found herself in complete, unyielding shadow once again. From somewhere in the black abyss, she heard the quiet sound of Faith's whisper._

 _"Take care, Miriana. The deeper he falls, the more difficult the battle will be in the end."_

* * *

Just as he had the previous morning, Garrett cooked breakfast for Miriana and served it to her in her cabin. As they dined on poached eggs, bacon, fried mushrooms, and toast with orange marmalade, the captain and his guest enjoyed some light conversation about different books they each had read. Mercifully, Miriana made sure to steer clear of any mention of the Gerard books, and chose to instead talk of other adventure tales she enjoyed.

By the end of their meal, as they both sipped their tea, she actually seemed comfortable enough in his presence that he felt it time to alter their discussion to more personal matters. He still needed to convince her that foregoing the trip to Kinloch Hold in favor of turning to Denerim was the better plan. He was confident if he could only assure her safety, she would agree to his request.

"So, love," he began. "We have discussed every manner of book under the sun, but I still know precious little about you."

Her alabaster cheeks flushed a dark shade of pink as she concentrated on the cup in her hand. "There's not much to tell, really."

"I find that difficult to believe," he argued. "Well, maybe we should start with the basics. I know you said you were from the Circle of Ostwick. Is that where you hail from originally?"

She shook her head with a timid smile. "No, I was born in Kirkwall. When I was five, my father took us from the city to Cumberland."

 _Cumberland._

That was the city where Marko had picked up the little girl they took to Kinloch all those years ago. Garrett couldn't quite recall her name, but he knew it wasn't Miriana. Still, Miri looked as he imagined that young mage would have at the same age. The timing of that trip from Cumberland was about right as well. Miriana used the word, "us." Perhaps the child he met years before was a sister.

"My dad gave passage to a young mage around fourteen years ago. We took her to Kinloch. It was the only time my dad ever made that journey as far as I can remember." He chuckled. "She was just a little spit of a girl, but she had the temperament of a sea witch. Threw a plate of fish at my head."

The young mage's brow furrowed with curiosity. "Was her name Solona, by chance?"

That was it. Solona. He nodded his head. "Yes, I believe it was. Friend of yours?"

"She's my twin sister," Miriana affirmed with a wistful smile. "She was taken by the templars when we were five, along with our two older brothers, Decimus and Maddox. The templars tested all four of us for magic along with our father. They didn't find a trace of it on me. I suppose I came into my gift a little later in life. I found out I had it when I was eight."

Her face took on a pensive frown. Garrett imagined the memory of it all was difficult for her. He couldn't fathom what it must have been like to have half of his family torn away from him at such a young age. As hard as it had been growing up knowing his birth parents never wanted him, losing family like that couldn't have been much easier, if any.

"I'm sorry, love," he offered in apology for prompting her to recall what was obviously a painful memory.

She waggled her head. "It's fine…It's just that…Mages are never assigned to the same Circles as other family members, especially not immediate family. If I'm being transferred to Kinloch, that must mean…" Her lapis eyes began to glisten. "Solona must not have survived her Harrowing."

"Harrowing?" he queried.

Garrett had heard the word before, and he knew it had something to do with Circle mages. Beyond that, he didn't have a clue what it was. From the expression on Miriana's face, he could tell it was nothing good.

"It's the test apprentices must go through to prove that they will not pose a danger in the future. We aren't allowed to speak of it more than in general terms, but if an apprentice does not pass…they lose their heads."

The captain arched a brow. "I hope you mean in the figurative sense, love."

"No," she whispered. "The templars behead apprentices who fail."

"That seems a bit…harsh."

The mage shrugged. "It's necessary. The Harrowing proves to the templars and the Chantry that a mage is less likely to fall prey to demons."

Garrett grimaced. "I would think there would be a better way to do it. Perhaps further study or better preparation? The Circle in Rivain doesn't do Harrowings, leastwise I've never heard of anyone losing their head. Of course, that Circle is little better than a school. The mages of Rivain basically attend when they feel like it, and go home at the end of the day if they wish. As far as I know, there has never been a major attack by demons or the like there."

"I've heard Rivain is much more lax in its rules," Miriana admitted. "But very little is known about that Circle among the others. It seems to be left out of the lore and histories that I've seen, other than to say the light of the Maker was finally allowed to shine on a land full of witches and thieves." Her face flushed crimson. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean any offense by that."

The captain laughed. "None taken, love. Rivain does rather know its fair share of both, but it's where my dad hails from and where he retired to. It's also where he found me. So I suppose it's my home of sorts."

"Found you?"

"Aye," he said. "I was left on the docks of Deriav among some cargo. Ramirez heard me crying in the larder and took me to the captain. Marko decided to adopt me, so here I am."

The mage's eyes filled with empathy, not pity, but true understanding. Garrett hated when anyone pitied him his childhood, but he appreciated the genuine concern in Miriana's lapis eyes. Somehow, he felt she understood what he had endured, as if she had gone through a similar experience. She never mentioned a mother. Perhaps they had more in common than just a love a books. Either way, he thought it probably best to change the subject.

"It's too bad it's not a bit later in the year," he mused. "I could really go for a swim about now. I do enjoy my baths, of course, but there's nothing like fresh salt water against the skin to make you feel alive."

Miriana shrugged. "I wouldn't know. I've never been swimming."

"Never?" he asked with surprise. "Not even in fresh water?"

She shook her head. "No. Not that I remember."

"I suppose Ostwick is a bit inland," he surmised.

"It's not that," she explained. "There were fresh lakes around Ostwick. My escorts and I passed them on our way through. I just never saw them when I was in the Circle. In fact, my journey here is the first time I've been outside since I was nine."

"They didn't allow you to go outside?" the pirate inquired. He had always heard mages weren't allowed to venture outside their Circles, but he had no idea it meant they never ventured outdoors at all.

"No," she confirmed. "Apprentices are never allowed out of doors. Some of the Senior Enchanters are allowed to leave on occasion, but that is only after they spend years proving they are trustworthy enough for the privilege. They even board up all the windows in the Circle. That way, no apprentices or lower level mages are tempted. The Chantry believes it's cruel to wave such temptation in the faces of the gifted."

"So even small children aren't allowed fresh air?" he questioned. "Surely they…"

"Especially not the children," the mage replied. "The Chantry and the templars have been operating in that manner for ages. It is a formula that seems to work well."

Garrett was surprised by the fact that there was no bitterness in Miriana's voice. She actually seemed a bit defensive over such cruelty, as if she agreed with it. Perhaps she just needed a reminder of the taste of true freedom. His lids narrowed as an impish smirk formed on his lips.

"Never been swimming, eh? Well that is a travesty we will simply have to remedy, love."

She presented him with a curious frown. "What do you mean?"

"I think my friend, the one that bonny dress belonged to, left swimming attire in the VIP quarters. I'll have Carlos fetch it for you, and I will call again in another hour or so."

"B…but…but…" she stammered.

The pirate stood and flourished a bow. "I shall see you then, my dear. I am very much looking forward to showing you the wonders of the sea."

For a moment, Garrett worried she might refuse his offer, but she simply smiled and gave him a hesitant nod. He hoped a swim might urge her in the direction he wanted to go. Besides, if he couldn't convince her otherwise, she was about to go back into the Circle where she would be locked away for the rest of her days. She should at least have the chance to live. If only for a few moments.

* * *

Miriana's teeth chattered as she wrapped the soft blanket tighter around her shoulders. The water had felt like ice against her skin at first, but she had gotten accustomed to it rather quickly. Sitting in the longboat while the ship's crew slowly hauled it back up to the deck, however, was almost torturous. The young mage was chilled to the bone. More than once, Garrett asked if she would be alright. It was a question Miriana could only manage to answer with a shivering nod of her head.

The captain had been very patient with her during her first swim. He taught her how to float on her back and tread water. A few times, she was sure she nearly drowned the poor man when she panicked, but he reassured her he wouldn't allow her to sink and he would be right there to catch her if she happened to falter.

When Miriana's feet were solidly back on the wooden planks of the ship, Garrett turned to her with a smile. "I took the liberty of having a pot of tea delivered to my cabin upon our return. Would you care to join me, love?"

Any other time, his request would have sent the mage's nerves into a frenzy. At that moment, however, she was simply too cold to care. "T…tea would be l…lovely, Garrett. Th…thank you."

"It is my pleasure, love," he told her as he placed his hand on the small of her back to lead her to his quarters. "If you'd like, I could add a little rum or brandy to your cup. Warm you from the inside out, so to speak."

Miriana's eyes lit up. She adored brandy. First Enchanter Wenda would allow her a small glass on occasion when their training exercises were exceptionally taxing after she passed her Harrowing. She was sworn to secrecy about the special treat, which actually made those sessions even more significant to her.

"I do enjoy brandy," she admitted.

"Then brandy it shall be," he said with a slight tilt of his head. "I happen to have a bottle of hundred year old Antivan brandy in my cabin. My dad gave it to me the first time I visited him after I took over as captain of the _Call._ Never been opened. My tastes run much simpler most days, so I decided to save it for a special occasion." He gave her a wink and an uneven grin. "Having a bonny lass such as yourself join me for a drink seems a grand enough occasion to finally remove that cork."

A small giggle escaped Miriana despite her best efforts to keep it in. She bit down on her lips to prevent herself further embarrassment. After the time they had spent together over the last two days, the mage had finally begun to realize that the man at her side was not Gerard, but a man who was real and far superior to the rogue from her favorite storybook.

* * *

Garrett filled Miriana's cup with tea and then brandy in equal measures. As he placed the bottle upon the table, he couldn't help but be saddened by its sight. He had meant to give it to Bryce years ago, but he always forgot it on the ship, promising next time he would remember. Now, next time would never come.

He watched the mage take a sip from her cup. A smile of satisfaction formed on her lips upon her sampling of the mixture. Although he knew he should wait until Miriana had the chance to warm up and settle in a bit more, his memory of Bryce prompted him to ask the query that had been on his mind for days.

"I have a question, love," he began. "A proposition of sorts." When her expression turned to a worried scowl, he shook his head with a chuckle. "No, nothing like that," he assured her. "I was wondering how you would feel about delaying your trip to the Circle for a while…perhaps, indefinitely."

She placed her cup and saucer down upon the surface of the table. The lines in her forehead deepened as her lids narrowed in quiet contemplation. After a long pause, she shook her head.

"I'm sorry, Garrett," she refused. "But I can't. While I have enjoyed my time on your ship…the Circle is my home. It's where I belong. The longer I delay my journey, the more trouble it could bring to both of us." The space between her brows disappeared. "I hope you can understand."

The captain felt his stomach drop as he released the breath he was unaware he had been holding until that moment. He couldn't imagine why anyone would choose to go back into that sort of captivity, especially after the little bit she had told him about it. He wanted to be angry with her, tell her how foolish she was being, but the sadness in her lapis eyes wouldn't allow it.

As he inhaled a deep breath, Garrett came to the realization that it wasn't the delay of catching up to Howe that upset him most, but the fact that Miriana was so adamant about leaving him. For the first time since Maggie, he actually felt something more than just lust for a woman, something real, and it scared him nearly to death. He waggled his head to shake away his thoughts and emotions. He couldn't allow himself to feel that kind of pain again. He wouldn't allow it.

He picked up his cup and saucer then sat back and took a sip of his brandied tea. "Then I suppose we'll just have to find a way through these storms so we can get you back to the Circle."

* * *

Through the eyes of the gull sitting outside the captain's window, Remus watched the man and woman sitting at the table inside. All day, the Tevinter had observed the pirate woo the woman who had become his obsession. Gone were his thoughts and worries over his father and the Venatori who followed him. The stone embedded within him was forgotten, though he could still feel its power pulsating throughout his body and soul. The only thing that really mattered was her. Miriana.

 _You will not have her. Not as long as I still draw breath. She is mine._

* * *

The wheel shifted in Martinez's hand. The deviation was subtle, but it was definitely more than the typical shark hitting the rudder and the tap was too soft for a whale. He peered up to spy dark, heavy clouds roll in overhead. A glance to his left informed him the clouds weren't blown over from the wall of storms that had plagued the _Call_ since leaving Highever.

The first mate watched the freak storm moving in. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before. He had lived at sea long enough and had been through enough gales to know, clouds weren't supposed to maneuver in such a sudden and odd pattern. Something was definitely wrong.

Another jolt, but that one nearly jerked the wheel from his hand. He held the helm as steady as he could, maintaining enough control to prevent the ship from pitching too far to the right. Whatever was beneath them was big. Larger than any whale or shark they had ever come across. They were too near shore for it to be a true creature of the deep. The ones written about in books and haunted every sailor's worst nightmares.

Something slammed hard into the portside of the ship as sheets of rain mixed with heavy pellets of ice began to assault the large man's face. Between whatever was assailing them from below and the unnatural squall, the _Call_ would surely founder. If he didn't know better, he would swear the spirit of the sea aimed to see them dead. He looked to his right and spotted Ainsley struggling against the wind.

"Fetch the captain," he cried over the din. "We need him on deck. Now!"

* * *

With the reflexes of a cat, Garrett managed to catch Miriana before she hit the floor after the jolt to the ship sent her careening out of her chair. The first two pitches of the ship he chalked up to the gale from the terrible storm that finally moved in from the shore. The last, however, told the captain it was something far worse.

"Are you alright, love?" he inquired of the lady cradled in his arms.

"I'm fine, Garrett," she nodded. "What in the Maker's name was that?"

The pirate helped the mage to her feet as the ship continued to sway and rock in the wind that cast it about. A frantic pounding at the door echoed above the din of the hail and rain pelting the outside of the cabin and the loud creaks and groans of the wood as it fought against the rising tide. Ainsley didn't bother to wait for the captain's answer before spilling inside and nearly falling on his face from the force of the gale at his back.

"Captain!" he hollered. "Mister Martinez needs you at the helm, ser."

Garrett swallowed back his own creeping sense of dread and turned to Miriana with as much confidence and calm as he could muster as he gripped the beam next to him that ran floor to ceiling. "I'll be back momentarily, love" he told her. "Martinez can't do a thing without me." The worry in her lapis eyes nearly stole his breath. "Don't worry, love, this sort of thing happens time and again. Nothing I can't handle." He presented her with a wink and a flirtatious smirk. "As I told you before, I never said there weren't _any_ adventures. Just settle yourself here while I take care of some business."

"Very well, Garrett," she agreed.

The captain gave her another grin and a small bow and followed Ainsley back out onto the deck. The storm was even worse than he feared. He held onto the wall at his side as he began to make his way against the sleet and the hail and the driving wind to the stairs that led to the helm.

He had only managed a few steps when an enormous tentacle slithered over the railing and across the deck to wrap around Ainsley's left ankle. It gripped the man's limb so tightly that the crewman screamed out in pain as the monstrous thing lifted him from the planks to hang several feet over Garrett's head. The monster flung Ainsley back and forth like a wet dishtowel for several moments then unraveled from the man's leg, launching him past the railing and several yards out to sea.

The appendage came crashing down onto the deck, generating a large hole in the wooden planks and prompting Garrett to roll out of its way. He pulled his ebony handled cutlasses from their sheaths and sliced through the end of the creature's limb, creating a tremendous roar which resonated from somewhere below. The tentacle was withdrawn only to be replaced by another ascending from the opposite side of the ship.

The captain leapt for the stair railing, grabbed hold, and used it to launch himself onto the upper deck where he found Martinez struggling to keep the wheel under some semblance of control. The first mate's face was as red as a ripe autumn apple and his knuckles as white as a freshly shorn lamb as he tried to keep the wheel from spinning too far in any one direction.

Garrett ran to the larger man's side and gripped the spokes. "Martinez," he bellowed. "Get some men on those ballistas. If we don't rid ourselves of that beastie, we'll all be lost to the void."

* * *

 _The cool grass felt good under Miriana's bare feet. Especially given the heat radiating from the sun overhead. A light breeze blew across her skin and caught in the loosened tendrils of hair framing her face. The light chemise she wore billowed about her knees. The place she found herself in was quiet, peaceful. Quite a change from where she had been before._

 _Where had she been before?_

 _The young mage searched the recesses of her mind. She recalled a ship, a storm. Gripping, unyielding fear. She was tossed to the floor and hit her head. But where was she now?_

 _The Fade._

 _But it was no mere dream. Something was amiss. She concentrated, willing herself to wake. When she opened her eyes, she was still in the meadow. She could sense it around her. If she looked either left or right, she could perceive the lea. If she kept her eyes forward, she could still see the grassy land in her peripheral vision. Straight forward, however…_

 _It was almost as if she were peering out a small window, just inches from her eyes. Through that perception, she could see the sails, the storm, the monstrous creature that reared its body from the water and threatened to crush the ship. Every step she took across the deck, she took within that place in the Fade._

 _"Let me help you, Miriana," a familiar voice whispered on the wind. "If you do not, you will die along with everyone on the ship, including your captain."_

 _"But Faith," the mage argued. "Only demons possess the living. Are you a demon?"_

 _"No, child," the spirit assured her in a calming, ethereal voice. "I am no demon. You know me. You have known me your entire life. I only want to protect you. Keep you safe."_

 _Miriana could feel the warmth of the spirit. It was exactly the same as it had always been. Still, she hesitated._

 _Then, through the window, she heard Garrett's voice. "Miriana! Get back inside!" A long moment passed before the captain cried out to the cabin boy. "Carlos! Get her to my cabin! Now!"_

 _As the boy made his way toward her against the wind, something large crashed into him from the side and sent him hurtling over the railing._

 _"The rest will die as well," Faith said, her voice held sadness that nearly broke Miriana's heart. "As will you. Please, Miriana."_

 _Miriana didn't say a word. She simply nodded her head. The next moment, everything went cold and black._

* * *

Garrett couldn't release the wheel. If he did, the ship would founder on its side and they would be lost to the abyss. What was that fool woman doing out on the deck? The wind rushed around her as she moved toward the bow, whipping her hair and dress all about her, yet she didn't seem to struggle at all as she glided across the ice and rain soaked planks under her bare feet.

When she reached the bowsprit, she climbed atop the wide wooden spike and inched her way toward its tip. Just when she had come to the middle, she stopped and lifted her arms in the air. The monster of the deep rose from the water with slow precision and towered over the woman before it.

Garrett had seen giant squid before, but nothing prepared him for the size of that creature. His dad had spoken of the legend of the kraken before, but even the old man admitted he had never laid eyes on the beast. Only a handful over the ages ever survived to tell the tale of the monster, and those had only seen it from afar. If the creature before them truly was the one from the legends, it had certainly earned the designations, "Destroyer of Ships" and the "Wrath of the Sea".

By all accounts, they were doomed. Each and every one of them. Garrett, however, didn't hold much weight to old tales and stories told to children to keep them from choosing a life at sea. The thing was colossal to be certain, but any creature that drew breath could die. He called out to his crew manning the ballistas.

"On my order men," he cried then waited for them to ready their positions. "Fire!"

Large bolts soared through the rain and sleet toward the beast then promptly fell away when they hit their mark. The captain's gaze turned to Miriana who was surrounded by a glowing light. From what he could tell, nothing penetrated the lambency as it grew larger and brighter.

The radiance remained around the mage, but the growing excess moved toward the beast until it hit the creature directly in the numerous eyes buried within the front of its gigantic head. It careened back, releasing the ship from its many snaking tentacles as it went. With a loud groan and a roll to its rear, the kraken dove back under the water.

Within moments, the weather began to clear and the faint glow of the sun, dulled by thin grey clouds, shone down upon _Yavana's Call_. The light that had surrounded Miriana faded. She took several steps backward, until she was at the ship's end of the bowsprit, then collapsed onto the deck.


	30. Confessions Of A King

As usual, Alistair took first watch for the night, and just like the previous evening, Solona kept him company. Fortunately, she decided she wasn't in the mood to play Confessions or to pry into his parentage. They simply talked. He related tales of his short stint with the Grey Wardens in Denerim and his travels across Ferelden with Duncan, Daveth and Jory. She told him about the scheming of the mages and apprentices at Kinloch Hold and stories about Jowan and growing up in the tower. No mention was made of Anders or of Eamon between the two. For the most part, the conversation remained pleasant and fairly lighthearted.

Before the end of his watch, Solona drifted off to sleep with her head nestled against Alistair's shoulder. He knew he probably should have woken her and sent her back to her tent, but having her there was comforting. They would reach Redcliffe the day after next, and he knew everything would change. Sooner or later, he would be forced to tell her the truth. When that happened, she would no longer see him the same.

A soft whimper escaped the mage's lips, and she tightened her grip on his arm before settling down again. He wondered what she was dreaming about. Was it the darkspawn or Anders? He considered either to be a nightmare for the woman.

As he stoked the fire with the sharpened branch in his hand, he had to wonder just how many mages had escaped the tower over the last few years. First, there was Jowan and then Anders had gotten away six times in as many years, according to Solona. Alistair knew of at least one more who managed to evade the templars while he was still an initiate at Bournshire.

He was barely eighteen the day Knight-Commander Glavin called the older initiates into the classroom for a special lesson on the efficiency of phylacteries. There were many who questioned their use, considering they were a form of blood magic, but the Chantry and templars maintained they were a necessary evil. Glavin intended to prove to them just how effective the vials were at deterring mages who chose to attempt to flee the confines of the Circle.

Because he had a tendency to fall asleep during lectures, Alistair was made to sit in the front row middle seat of the classroom where the Knight-Commander could keep an eye on him. Once the initiates were settled in and ready for Glavin's lesson, the doors opened to reveal the tallest man Alistair had ever seen up to that point. He was at least six and a half feet tall with stringy blonde curls that curtained most of his face. He was filthy and bruised with dried blood caked around his mouth and under his nostrils. His wrists and ankles were shackled in special runed manacles that helped to subdue his magic. The most striking thing about the man, however, was the expression of total boredom and disinterest he wore.

Glavin paced the room between the captured mage and his students for several minutes. When he finally came to a halt in the center, he spun on the ball of his left foot and faced the initiates with a loud clank of his armored heels. His eyes scanned the room, until he was certain he met the gaze of every student, then lifted a small vial full of thick crimson liquid that sparkled in the rays of the sun streaming through the nearby window.

"This is a phylactery," he began. "It is _the_ single most important item in the Chantry's arsenal to combat the evils of magic. It is what keeps mages bound to the Circles and protects the outside world from their corruption." With the wave of his hand, the Knight Commander gestured to the man who stood behind him to his left. "This mage's name is Haydn Steiber." Alistair noted a slight cringe from the prisoner at the mention of his name. "He is evidence that the use of phylacteries is vital. He was captured not far from here in the Hinterlands with the use of this tiny vial."

While Glavin droned on about the benefits of phylacteries and the vileness of magic and those who wielded it, Alistair's attention remained focused on the tall man in chains. The mage didn't seem inherently dangerous from what the young initiate could tell, just perturbed. As the prisoner scanned the faces in the room, his eyes locked upon Alistair's, and for the first time since the man entered the room, the initiate recognized true animosity dancing within the amber of his irises. His left brow arched and his nostrils flared with a disgusted sneer. There was no doubt, the mage hated Alistair without ever speaking one single word to him. He hated him for the uniform he wore, for the man he was slated to become.

The initiate recalled the boy, Ryan, and wondered if Haydn Steiber had a similar experience when he was taken to the Circle. Perhaps his mother had instead been reluctant to allow the templars to take him away. The prisoner wasn't a young man, by any stretch of the imagination. He had to have been at least ten years Alistair's senior. What could have happened to him to make him chance running from the Circle, knowing the templars and Chantry held the key to locating him?

Alistair felt light fingers touch upon his shoulder and turned his head in time to see Leliana stifling a yawn. "It is time for my watch," she whispered. "I almost hate to disturb the two of you though. You look so cozy together, cuddled up by the fire."

The Warden chuckled. "It's not like that, Leliana," he told her. "You know that."

"I think it could be," she grinned. "If either of you ever decided to pull your heads out of your asses."

Alistair feigned an expression of shock. "Why, Sister, such language!"

The redhead laughed as she took a seat next to him. "We all have our secrets, Alistair," she admitted. "You most of all."

He scowled at her. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I'm an open book."

Leliana flashed a knowing smile. "As you say, your Majesty, but you will have to tell her sooner or later."

Alistair's eyes widened with true bewilderment. How could she possibly know? Only a handful of people were aware of his heritage, and Leliana certainly shouldn't be one of them. She placed the tips of her fingers on his scruffy chin and pushed his mouth closed.

"Relax," she said. "Your secret is safe with me, and before you ask, I have known your true identity all along, Alistair Theirin. As you may have guessed, I was not always a sister of the Chantry. My past is much more colorful than I care to admit. Let's just say the robes never fit quite right. In truth, I was hiding in Lothering because I carried classified knowledge I never dreamed I would come face to face with one day."

The Warden studied the redheaded woman for several moments. He realized upon meeting her, she was hiding something, but he never dreamed it was that. Who was this woman? She was an Orlesian in Ferelden. Perhaps she was a spy for Celene. Maybe she was an assassin sent to decimate the royal line.

 _Now you sound like Loghain._

It couldn't have been that. If it were, she would have never revealed she knew his secret. She would have simply just murdered him in his sleep and moved on. Still, there was too much she was leaving unsaid. He opened his mouth to ask her, but she held up her hand.

"It is better that we don't speak anymore on this for now." She pointed to Solona. "I believe your fellow Warden is beginning to stir."

The next evening, after supper, Leliana regaled the Wardens and the rest of their companions with a story that would have made even the most hardened sailor blush. Sten seemed less than amused by the tale, while Morrigan appeared completely bored. Solona laughed so hard, she was forced to wipe tears from her eyes. Alistair, on the other hand, was so red in the face he could have acted as a beacon in the dark woods which surrounded them.

By the time everyone was ready to retreat to their respective tents, Alistair was still so embarrassed he considered avoiding Solona completely. Unfortunately, the two Wardens needed to have a serious discussion and, considering they were slated to arrive in Redcliffe before noon the next day, he knew it couldn't wait. He had to tell her his secret. If he didn't, Eamon, or worse, Isolde would surely reveal his parentage.

The Warden paced in front of the fire as he awaited Solona's return from the small pond that lay just beyond the coppice surrounding their campsite. It seemed an eternity passed since the mage and the redheaded rogue departed for their baths. Alistair took that time to mull over the words he would use to tell Solona the truth, but none of them were quite right. He had no idea how to even begin that conversation.

When the two women emerged from the treeline, instead of approaching his fellow Warden as he planned, Alistair stopped in his tracks, his feet frozen in place. He couldn't do it. How could he?

As she walked past, the light scent of honey and fresh lavender was carried on the hint of a breeze to invade his senses. His heart began to beat faster as he caught a glimpse of her bare body by the firelight that shone through the thin linen shirt she intended to wear as a bed smock. The erection he acquired at the sight made stopping her even more difficult. Somehow, he mustered enough inner strength to grab her arm before she was beyond his reach completely. She turned to face him with a slight scowl.

"Did you need something?" she asked.

"I think I'll just head on to my tent now," Leliana interrupted before giving Alistair a wink and a knowing grin behind the mage's back. "I'll see you two in the morning."

"Very well," Solona told her.

"Goodnight, Solona," the redhead bade before giving a tilt of her head to the other woman's fellow Warden. "Goodnight, Alistair."

The two Wardens extended their farewells to the rogue before Solona returned her attention to Alistair. The expectant, yet annoyed look in her lapis eyes prompted every thought in his head to leave him entirely. He honestly couldn't remember what it was he was going to say to her, so he said the first thing that came to mind.

"I was wondering," he began then faltered to rephrase. "How about a game of Confessions?"

Her right brow arced. "Really?" she questioned. "Normally getting you to agree to play is like pulling teeth. Why the sudden interest in playing now?"

He presented her with a sheepish smile and a shrug. "I don't know," he lied. "I just thought it was a nice night for it, I suppose. But if you're not interested…"

Her lids narrowed with suspicion. "Alright," she agreed. "Just give me a few moment to stow my things and grab a blanket."

"I'll be waiting with knobs on," he told her as he sat down on the fallen log next to the fire.

After several minutes, she finally returned, barefooted with her shoulders wrapped in a heavy wool blanket. She plopped down next to him then turned her head to regard him with a frown. Alistair wasn't sure if she was annoyed or confused given her expression. Whichever it was, it induced a harsh gulp from his ever-tightening throat. She was obviously waiting for him to start and didn't plan to speak a word until he did.

Alistair ran his tongue across his lips as he thought of his first question. It had to be something benign. He wasn't quite ready for the difficult inquiries just yet.

"How old were you when you got your first real kiss?" he asked, hoping it was harmless enough not to illicit any more wariness from his fellow Warden.

She seemed a bit surprised by his query. "Oh," she exclaimed before regaining her composure. "I don't know…Eight? Nine?"

"That young?" he questioned with bewilderment.

"Yes," she replied. "There was tongue involved and everything. And that was two questions, so now I get to ask two."

"Alright," he agreed. "Ask away."

"How old were you when you got _your_ first _real_ kiss?" she asked before quickly adding. "And yes, it had to involve tongue."

"Fourteen," he answered.

"And what was the name of the first person you kissed?"

There was no way Alistair was answering that question. He should have known not to start out with that one in the first place. His first kiss was a mistake, and it cost him his only friendship in the monastery. He had to reveal something embarrassing, but nothing quite that shameful. He blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"I'm a virgin," he told her, then immediately closed his eyes against the backlash of the teasing he knew he was about to endure.

"Really?" she questioned. After a long pause, she added, "That does explain some things."

"Explains what?" he wondered aloud.

"I never wear smallclothes except during my moon cycle," she confessed.

 _Damn. She caught me again._

Alistair bit his lips to prevent himself from asking the obvious question of _Never?_ If he did, he knew she would answer and then be allowed another question. When the impulse was over, he exhaled a long sigh.

"Was the first person you kissed male or female?" she asked.

 _Maker, not that._

Alistair's brow furrowed and his eyes darted back and forth as he searched for something embarrassing to tell her. He drew a complete blank. He couldn't think of a bloody damned thing. His shoulders drooped in defeat.

"Male," he mumbled.

He wanted to tell her it meant nothing. That it was just experimental, and there was no real attraction at all. The problem was, if he said either of those things, it would have been a lie. Alistair made a promise back then, when he was fourteen, he would never tell anyone he was sexually attracted to both women and men. In the monastery, such things were frowned upon, and Alistair learned quickly that any deviation from the norm was not taken lightly by the other initiates or the templars. In Orlais, it was more acceptable. In Ferelden, however, it could likely get a man or, in his case a boy, beaten in his sleep. He was just lucky Cullen never told anyone.

Alistair apologized, of course, immediately and profusely. He tried to laugh it off as a joke, telling Cullen he just wanted to see the look on the other boy's face. His friend didn't buy it for a second, and Alistair felt he needed some sort of grand gesture to prove he was worthy of being Cullen's friend. So, to make up for that transgression, Alistair chose to reveal the secret of his birth that he wouldn't dare tell anyone else.

Unfortunately, it backfired and he lost his best friend anyway. He was never quite certain if Cullen turned his back on him because of the kiss, the secret Cullen perceived as a lie, or a combination of both things. Either way, that evening taught the young initiate a lesson he would never forget-Never reveal anything that personal unless absolutely necessary. Sadly for him, talking about his father to Solona had finally become unavoidable.

To Alistair's surprise, the mage actually seemed to perk up a bit upon hearing his answer to her last question. As if something in her thoughts was somehow vindicated, but she didn't tell him what it might be. She took hold of his hand with a genuine smile.

"It's alright, Alistair," she told him. "Nothing to be down about. It happened all the time in the tower." When he gave her a questioning scowl, her grin broadened. "Trust me. It doesn't bother me in the least."

"Are you sure?" he asked still waiting for the backlash of his confession.

Solona presented him with a nod. While her expression was one of understanding, her lapis eyes began to glisten in the firelight. Something was definitely wrong, but he was unable to discern what it might have been.

"Of course I'm sure," she confirmed. "And I won't even count that as your next question."

"Thanks," he whispered with an appreciative smile.

As he stared into Solona's eyes, Alistair realized he no longer wanted to play the game. She refused to shun him for what he considered was one of the biggest mistakes of his life. Perhaps they were finally close enough for him to tell her about who he really was without feeling the weight of her scorn.

"There's something I need to tell you," he began. "I should have told you a long time ago, but I guess I was afraid of what you would say. I was afraid you might look at me differently. It's something that never meant anything to me, but it has haunted me my entire life."

She kept hold of his hand as she shifted her body closer to his. "What is it, Alistair?"

"You asked me before if Eamon was my father," he continued. He licked his lips. "He's not, but there was a reason he took me in. You see, my father…was King Maric Theirin."

* * *

For several moments, Solona could do nothing more than stare at the man sitting next to her. She was completely frozen in place and in time. Her heart was still reeling from the confirmation that the man she had fallen in love with preferred the company of other men. Now, he was telling her that he was a prince. No. The future king of bloody Ferelden. If he were going to be king, it could mean only one thing for their future. He would take the throne and she would be forced from his life forever. She had read enough on governance and politics to know it could go no other way. She was going to lose him, just as she had lost everyone else in her life who ever meant anything to her.

She sucked in a quick breath to prevent the flood of tears that threatened to fall and quickly let go of his hand as her indignation began to rise. Her chest rose and fell with every heavy, labored breath. She couldn't believe she had allowed herself to get so close to him, to fall so deeply. If she had known. If he had told her, she would have kept a better guard around her heart. It was difficult enough to know he would never truly be able to love her back, not in the way she wanted, but to lose his friendship too? It was more than she could bear.

Solona stood, letting the blanket fall from her shoulders. She had to get away from him before he saw how badly his words stung her, how furious and morose she really was. She couldn't let him know how thoroughly he had just shattered her already broken heart. He could never know.

She felt his hand grip her wrist as she attempted to walk away. "Solona, please. For the Maker's sake, please don't go."

For a long moment, she simply stood there, facing away from him, attempting to regain her composure. She wanted to scream at him, to pommel him until his outsides were as crippled and fragmented as her soul, but she couldn't. No matter how badly she wanted to hurt him, she still loved him. Instead, she jerked her arm from his grasp, and slowly walked to her tent.

 _Never again. This is the last time you allow anyone close enough to break your fool heart._

* * *

After Miriana passed out on deck following the attack, Garrett rushed to check on her. Her skin was as white as newly fallen snow and felt like ice to the touch. He feared her dead, but when he placed his ear against the left side of her chest, he found her heart still beating strong. After trying everything he could think of to wake her to no avail, he scooped her into his arms and took her to his cabin where he lay her gently down on his bed and covered her with three thick blankets.

For the rest of the afternoon and throughout the night, the captain remained in a chair at her side, clutching her hand. She never stirred, not once, but he was consoled by the fact that the blue and grey hues of death never colored her delicate skin. She had saved the _Call_ and most of her crew, and Garrett would not allow her to wake alone after such a feat. He didn't know how she managed it, and he didn't care. He just knew that he and his men were alive, and it was because of her.

At first, Garrett worried the events of the day would finally push his crew to mutiny. Instead, the men surprised him when nearly all had come by at various points to check to see if their heroine had recovered. Each and every crewman who visited, requested that the captain give Miriana their thanks and to let them know when she awakened. If any had qualms about having the young mage aboard before, their fears and trepidation had all been allayed.

When the first rays of the morning sun came shimmering through the window at the head of the bed, Garrett's eyes began to grow heavy. Several times, he was forced to jerk himself awake, but after a while, his body finally started to give way to its need for sleep. As he lay his head upon the mattress next to Miriana's leg, he felt her fingers twitch against his. He looked up in time to see her chest swell with a sharp gasp, followed by her lids parting to reveal the most beautiful pair of blue eyes the captain had ever seen.

* * *

Miriana had no idea how long she had wandered around in the darkness before she found herself back in the peaceful meadow within the Fade. But where everything was always a bit blurry and surreal in the past, it had become more vibrant, more substantial to her. A large part of her wanted to stay in that sunny field forever, but after a time, Faith finally urged her to rise and make her way to a small cabin that lay on the edge of a nearby forest. The moment she walked through the door, her eyes opened to the sight of Garrett's cabin.

When the mage felt warm, calloused fingers squeeze her own, she gazed down the bed to lock eyes with the captain's. The smile he wore was one of both relief and gratitude, but what he was thankful for, she could not guess. He kissed her knuckles before taking a seat on the bed beside her.

"Finally decided to rejoin the living, eh love?" he asked. "I must admit, you had me a bit worried there for a moment."

Miriana could have sworn she recognized tears swimming in his crystal green-blue eyes. The effect was more mesmerizing than ever before, but, for once, she didn't shy away from his gaze. She simply returned his gesture with a smile of her own and gave his fingers a gentle squeeze.

"I'm fine, Garrett," she told him. "But I could use some tea…If you don't mind."

He patted the back of her hand. "Of course not, love. Just give me a moment to fetch one of the crew. I need to let them know you're awake, anyway. Martinez might skin me alive otherwise."

"What do you mean?" she queried.

 _Why would the crew care if I was awake?_

"Well," he explained. "Nearly every man on the crew has come by asking how you fare. Ramirez has stopped in twice, and I swear Martinez has dropped by every half hour."

"Why?" she voiced the question foremost on her mind.

His lids narrowed and his face screwed up as he feigned deep concentration. "Well, let's see," he replied. "It could be because you're the most beautiful woman who ever graced the seas." He paused long enough to flash a rakish smirk. "Or perhaps it's because you saved our lives, love." He chuckled. "I honestly think the crew likes you more than myself now. If I'm not careful, they're going to be calling _you_ captain before this run is through."

Miriana had to laugh at that notion. The only thing she knew about ships was what she read in storybooks. Reality was far different than those tales. She knew he was teasing, but she seriously began to wonder what life on a pirate ship might be like.

After a promise to return in short measure, Garrett left his quarters to talk to his men, leaving Miriana time to think on what had occurred. She was possessed. She could feel the spirit of Faith inside her. After everything she was taught by Wenda about demons and possession, she thought it would feel darker somehow. Instead, there was light, warmth and a sense of fearlessness she had never before known.

She realized the change when she spoke to Garrett. For the first time since she met him, Miriana didn't feel nervous in his presence. She didn't worry about sounding stupid or silly to him. She was completely relaxed. It had to be Faith's doing, somehow.

 _I do like him, Miriana._

The voice was loud inside her head. Too loud. It seemed to echo throughout her skull and send a shock across her nerves. That was when it hit her like a ton of bricks. She was an abomination. She invited a spirit in to share her body and her mind. How would she ever be able to return to the Circle?

She wondered if there was a way to be rid of the curse she had placed on herself. Would the templars know right away? Would they kill her on sight? Perhaps, since she wasn't possessed by a demon per se, she could get away with it. Maybe she would even be able to find a tome, or some ancient spell to reverse what she had done.

As the door to the cabin opened and Garrett stepped inside, Miriana realized the saddest of truths. No matter how much she cared for him, she had to return to the Circle. It was more important now than ever. She had never known anything to be written or researched about possession by a virtuous spirit of the Fade. It was possible that Faith would remain as she had always been, a companion, a friend, but there was always a chance things would end badly. It was very possible she posed a danger to Garrett and everyone else around her.

That knowledge only left one path open to her, she had to continue on to Kinloch and research the tower's libraries. Only when she found the answers she needed would she be truly free to give her heart to anyone. Unfortunately, by the time she discovered the truth, Garrett would be gone, and it would be far too late.


	31. Trouble At Redcliffe

"Do you believe that man?" Solona questioned incredulously as the two Wardens stepped out of the Chantry.

Alistair was unsure if the mage's inquiry was directed at him or if she was just ranting to herself. If she _were_ speaking to him, it would be the first time since he revealed the secret of his parentage to her the previous evening. Just as Cullen had six years before, Solona rejected him the moment he told her he was Maric's son. Where Cullen became angry and called Alistair a liar, however, Solona simply walked away from him. As much as losing his fellow templar initiate's friendship hurt, it paled in comparison to his fellow Warden's reaction.

All morning long, Solona had completely ignored Alistair's presence, choosing instead to give orders to her companions in general terms when she wanted to relay a message to him. He had hoped he would get the chance to speak to her, to try to explain on their ride into Redcliffe, but she opted to walk in lieu of riding in the saddle with him. It broke his heart, but he knew it was his own damned fault. He should have told her that first night they played Confessions instead of waiting until the last minute. At the same time, there was every possibility she would have had the same reaction.

"He's always been an ass," Alistair told her, hoping his words might start a conversation as they made their way to the tavern to meet up with the rest of their companions.

Solona scowled then halted in her tracks. For several moments, she studied the toe of her boot as if she were trying to decide whether or not she was going to speak to him. The lines in her forehead deepened just before she turned her face to look him directly in the eye.

"Was he always such a coward, as well?" she asked with a haughty arch of her left brow.

Tears began to well up in Alistair's eyes the instant she spoke to him. He had never felt such a sense of relief in his entire life. He could see by her expression, she was still annoyed with him, but she didn't hate him. He could live with her displeasure. What he couldn't bear was the notion that she despised him.

"Let's just say, he'll never win any medals for bravery," the warrior replied.

She heaved a sigh. "I just find it rather sad that the future King of Ferelden is willing to fight for these people while he hides in the Chantry to 'protect the women and children'. What a complete load of bullshit."

"You weren't taken in by his charms then?" Alistair teased. "His attempts at flirting and flattery didn't turn your insides to jelly?"

Solona rolled her eyes. "Well, they certainly turned my stomach. The gall of that man. I simply asked if his wife was among the village women. I never expected he would turn that into, 'I'm not married, my lady, but I would be lucky to find a woman as lovely as yourself.'"

The warrior laughed. "I loved your response. 'Very lucky, indeed. Though it seems _my_ luck would end with such a proposal.' That was priceless."

She placed her hand on her chest then presented him with a smirk and a tilt of her head. "Always happy to entertain his Majesty."

Alistair's expression wilted to a contrite grimace. It was obvious she was trying to move past the tension between them, but was having a difficult time of it. He wanted to wait until they were alone, in a more relaxed setting to talk to her, to apologize, but he realized it wouldn't wait.

"Solona," he began. "I'm sorry." She stared at him with the mask of indifference she wore so well. "I never meant to hurt you. I was just afraid I would lose you…your friendship, I mean. The only other person I have ever told stopped speaking to me entirely afterward. I didn't want that to happen again…especially not with you."

Her shoulders lifted then fell with a heavy breath. "I suppose I can understand that, Alistair," she sympathized before taking a step forward and shoving her index finger into his chest. "But if you ever even think of keeping anything else even remotely like that from me again, I will beat you to a bloody pulp."

An uneven grin curled his lips as he flourished a quick arc of his brows. "Only if you catch me first," he challenged before spinning around and taking off in a dead run toward the tavern.

The crunching of dirt and rocks under foot behind him declared her assent to his challenge. As he bade the muscles of his own legs to move faster, he could never remember hearing a lovelier or more welcome sound.

* * *

Somehow, the Wardens managed to survive the night and the waves upon waves of undead assailants, as did their companions and most of the men in the village. As everyone awaited the arrival of Revered Mother Hannah and Bann Teagan, who were still inside the Chantry, Solona surveyed the gathered crowd. The men there, the ones who fought at the side of the Wardens, ranged in age from boys barely old enough to hold a sword to those nearly too frail from time to grip a hilt. Each one was bruised and bloodied, exhausted and haunted by a hard won battle most should have never seen.

They should have been resting in their beds, clinging to their families which they helped to protect, to save. Instead, they awaited a grand speech from a man who never once bothered to peek his head out the door of the Chantry since the entire ordeal began. According to the mayor, Teagan had locked himself inside the sanctuary as soon as he heard of the trouble the village was facing every night and refused to come out.

As angry and irritated as Solona was with the Bann for his cowardice, her countenance turned to outright fury upon his ultimate arrival near mid-morning. The grin the man wore was almost enough to make the mage forget he was a noble and use both her magic and her fists to wipe the smug expression from his face. At that very moment, she couldn't imagine detesting anyone more.

The bann held his hands in the air as if he were awaiting applause from a crowd too tired to care. "We did it, my friends," he began with an even broader smile. "We managed to beat back the enemy and survive the night."

Solona took a step forward to confront him, but Alistair's fingers gripping her bicep brought her to her senses enough to stop her in her tracks. She shot a glare at her fellow Warden, but the slow shake of his head served as a reminder that she had to maintain control of her temper and her tongue. They needed Eamon's help, which meant they needed Teagan's. It was a bitter potion to swallow, but it was one she had to endure for the sake of duty. She heaved a perturbed sigh as she stepped back into place at Alistair's side.

The revered mother walked forward and bowed her head. "Let us commend to the Maker those among us who perished."

As the priestess spoke the names of the lost in turn, Solona scanned the crowd once more. She had no interest in wasting time on prayers to a nonexistent father-figure. She would remember the dead in her own way, in her own time.

Most of the gathered throng wore somber expressions with heads bowed low, others simply chose to close their eyes. One among them was different. One apparently shared her views of the ridiculousness of both the situation and the noble who clearly intended to take some of the credit for a battle in which he was too spineless to participate.

The mayor's damning glare at Teagan spoke volumes about his opinion of the nobleman. There was a hatred in the village elder's eyes she had rarely seen. The mayor's glower moved from the bann's face to her own, but softened slightly when their eyes met. She presented him with a small nod of acknowledgement and he returned the gesture, reasonably satisfied that at least she wasn't buying into any of the pomp forced upon such an unfathomable situation.

Their stare was broken by the sound of Teagan's voice as he addressed the crowd once again. "Although, many good people were lost, do not lose heart, my friends," he beckoned with an air of feigned sympathy before gesturing to Solona with a wave of his hand. "This Grey Warden and her companions have been instrumental in aiding the village in its fight against such a terrible and horrific enemy." He then turned his attention to her directly, but continued to speak loudly enough for everyone gathered to hear. "Please, Grey Warden, I ask for your help once more. It is my intention to enter the castle and find Arl Eamon, and I pray that you and your friends will aid me in my endeavors."

Solona dipped her head in response, though the action left a bitter taste in her mouth. The man deserved no respect from her or anyone else, and she hated the pretense of affording it to him. Someday, his craven nature would catch up to him. She only hoped she would be allowed to be present to witness it.

"Of course, my lord," she replied, her nostrils slightly flared in contempt. It was the best she could manage given the circumstances.

"Then meet me by the windmill at the entrance to the village," he told her. "There we will make plans to free both my brother and this village from our enemy."

* * *

The Wardens waited nearly an hour by the windmill for Teagan, leaving Solona to grow angrier by the minute. She was pacing so furiously, Alistair could have sworn she was wearing a groove in the dead grass and dirt beneath her boots. He thought to try to calm her down, but his own ire was raised too much to bother. He knew they would most likely end up feeding off each other's tempers and that would end badly for everyone involved.

When the bann did finally arrive, he wore a smile that only served to make Alistair want to break the man's nose more than he already did. As much as he disliked Teagan in his younger years, he absolutely abhorred the man now. Solona was right. Teagan was a coward, but until that day, the young warrior hadn't realized how craven the man actually was.

"I'm sorry for the delay, my friends," he apologized. "But I just made the most delightful deal." He reached down and gripped the hilt of a sword sheathed at his hip and cleared it from the scabbard half an inch to reveal the top of the blade. "There was a boy who offered this sword to me in exchange for fifty sovereign. He said his grandfather fought dragons with it. Isn't that marvelous?"

"Yes. Very lovely," Solona replied with her best painted on smile, an expression which bore both obvious impatience and contempt.

Teagan didn't seem to notice the woman's affect as he continued gushing over his newfound treasure. "Of course, I would never give that much coin to a child, especially a foundling." He shook his head with a sigh. "Poor lad lost both of his parents and his sister to the undead."

"So, you didn't pay him for it?" Leliana questioned with incredulity. "The boy could have used that money for food, shelter."

"He was only ten or eleven," the bann replied. "He probably would have just wasted it on sweets and toys. No, I did better than that. I traded an offer of a job in the castle's stables for the sword. That way, he has someone to watch over him and he can learn a trade at the same time. An investment toward a future."

Alistair groaned internally. He knew what a difficult life being a stable boy at Castle Redcliffe would be for the child. He certainly didn't envy him. It was a despicable thing Teagan had done, but the warrior chose to keep his opinions to himself. Solona, on the other hand, decided to be a bit more vocal about the situation.

She arched a derisive brow. "So, you are forcing the child to pay _you_ for the sword _you_ took by working the rest of his days in a smelly stable? That hardly seems like a fair deal."

The bann donned a sympathetic smile, as if he pitied the woman for her feminine stupidity. "Don't worry, my lady. It was a fair trade. I suppose women simply don't understand such things. Trust me, he will be taken care of. I even sealed the deal with a whole sovereign."

"You mean the way Alistair was taken care of?" she inquired with a sneer, causing Alistair to nearly choke on the spittle he inhaled with his gasp. "I daresay, _my lord,_ elven slaves in Tevinter aren't treated as poorly as that."

Teagan's expression turned to one of indignation. He raised his finger in the air and opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a grating voice carrying a thick Orlesian accent crying out his name. Alistair closed his lids and inhaled a deep breath. It was a voice with which he was all too familiar. One he had hoped to delay hearing as long as possible.

It didn't surprise the young warrior in the least when the Lady Isolde ran straight into Teagan's arms. They held each other much too closely for two people who were merely brother and sister by law. For several moments, they remained wrapped in each other's embrace, completely oblivious to the onlookers surrounding them who were awkwardly trying to keep their attentions elsewhere.

"Teagan," Isolde croaked against his chest. "I was so worried. I knew you were on your way to Redcliffe after I received your letter. When you never arrived at the castle, I feared you may have perished by the hands of those things."

After a long pause, she finally pulled away from the bann just enough to stare into his eyes. The desperation in her own was almost enough for Alistair to feel sorry for the loathsome woman. Almost.

When the nobleman smiled down at her, Alistair questioned if anyone else noticed the affection in the man's eyes for his sister-by-law. Even as a child, he could tell there was something more between the arlessa and her husband's brother by the way they traded coy smiles and longing stares as they walked the castle grounds. Perhaps they behaved differently in the presence of more important onlookers, or maybe everyone just chose to ignore it. Either way, their feelings for each other were quite obvious at that moment.

"You should know that I'm not so easily bested, Isolde," he reassured her. "I wanted to come find you, to rescue Eamon, but I had to stay and help the villagers defend the village. I'm sorry I worried you."

Alistair could almost feel Solona's anger upon hearing Teagan's words. She was already beyond irritated with the man's cowardice and false bravado, but he could tell she was near the edge of her rope. He wondered if she would be able to hold her tongue enough to garner the support they so desperately needed from the arl and his men.

"Teagan," Isolde implored. "I need your help. Connor needs your help."

The bann's smile wilted to a troubled frown. "Connor? What's wrong with Connor?"

"There's a demon, Teagan," she explained, her voice cracking with fear. "It allowed me the chance to search for you. To see if you still lived. You must return to the castle with me."

"A demon?" Solona asked with a perplexed expression. "All of this carnage was caused by a demon?"

Isolde turned to regard the mage with a sneer. Alistair thought he recognized the hint of jealousy flash in the arlessa's eyes. " _Who_ is this _woman_ , Teagan?"

The bann opened his mouth to explain, but Solona held up her hand to stop him. "I am Solona Amell," the mage told the other woman. "Commander of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden. We came to Redcliffe in order to seek Arl Eamon's aid against the Blight."

 _Commander of the Grey Wardens._

She spoke the words with such confidence and conviction, it left no doubt in anyone's mind of the veracity of her statement. Her assertiveness and dominance of the situation, her mannerisms and patterns of speech reminded Alistair of the hardened generals and knight commanders he had encountered over the years. Any doubt he ever harbored about her ability to lead was quelled in that moment. She was truly the leader, the commander, the Blight demanded.

"I apologize for my abruptness, Commander," the arlessa offered in an uncharacteristically subdued tone. "But you must understand, my son is in danger. I must take Teagan back to the castle with me, or risk putting Connor's life in more peril."

Solona's brow furrowed as she gauged the truth of the other woman's words. By the way the mage narrowed her lids, it was apparent she didn't trust Isolde. The arlessa was obviously hiding something.

"Then perhaps we should all accompany you, Lady Isolde," the commander suggested. "As a mage, I have quite a bit of experience in dealing with demons."

"No," the other woman refused. "It said to bring Teagan. No one else."

The bann took hold of the arlessa's hand and gave it a light squeeze. "Isolde, I need to speak to the Warden Commander for a few moments."

"But…" she protested.

"Give us a moment," he requested. "Please."

* * *

As the Wardens and their companions traversed the narrow passageway between the windmill's trapdoor and the dungeon, Solona began to wonder if gaining Eamon's support was worth all the trouble. Teagan had asked them to enter the castle through the family's secret escape route while he accompanied Isolde. The mage knew she probably should have argued with the nobleman over such a foolish plan, but quite frankly, she couldn't have cared less if he survived the endeavor or not. The man was a coward and a braggart, and Solona had absolutely no use for him. If he got himself killed, the world would be unburdened from one less gutless and incompetent noble.

When they reached the end of the corridor and advanced through the heavy wooden door, the Wardens found themselves in what looked to be the castle dungeons, but it was hard to tell given the lack of light. The small orb in Solona's hand did little to permeate the darkness, and she didn't want to traverse any further in without getting a better feel for her surroundings. The smell of must and rotting flesh hung heavy in the air around them, telling the mage there was a good possibility they were about to be faced with more of the creatures they fought the previous evening.

When the torches along the walls flared to life all at once to light their way, Solona snuffed out the orb and immediately unsheathed her sword. She observed several dead and decaying bodies of soldiers and servants lying scattered across the floor, but none were moving. Not even a twitch. It seemed safe enough, but the mage remained cautious just the same.

"Thank you, Morrigan," Solona whispered to the witch who stood a few feet behind her.

As she stepped gingerly over one of the bodies, the mage heard a familiar voice call out from somewhere near the end of the corridor. "Hello? Is someone there?"

 _No. It can't be._

Solona hurried toward the cells at the other side of the passage, taking care not to step on the dead at her feet. The voice sounded like Jowan's, but how was that possible? If he had been captured by the templars, he wouldn't be in the dungeons of Castle Redcliffe. Would he?

When she reached the end of the corridor, Solona leapt across the body of a rather large guard whose throat was sliced from one end to another. She teetered on the balls of her feet for only a moment to catch her balance after a precarious landing before turning to face the inside of the cell to her left and her former best friend locked inside. The expression he wore was one of both shock and relief as he gripped the bars of his cage.

He had been stripped of all his clothing, even his smalls. Every inch of him was covered in cuts and bruises. In fact, she barely recognized him through the blackened eyes, swollen nose, and inflated and bloodied lips. He had obviously been the victim of harsh and unrelenting torture, and the purple and yellowed skin stretched taut over his bones bespoke of a man who had been forced to go hungry. The white of his knuckles around the bars made clear the great effort it took to keep his body upright as his bones and slight muscles tried to buckle under his own weight.

"Solona?" he breathed. "What are you doing here? How?"

"I could ask you the same thing," she told him in reply.

The Warden mage wore no smile when she spoke to him. All the emotions she felt the day he left her came back in a rush. Though she cared for him, loved him, she still harbored the anger, disappointment, and hurt against him for his secrecy and abandonment. She pitied him his current state, but she couldn't keep the notion at bay that his predicament was his own doing. He betrayed her in the worst way possible, and no matter what he had been through, she couldn't find it in her heart to forgive him. At least not at that moment, not yet.

"I…I made a mistake," he confessed. "When I ran from the tower, I boarded a ship at Lake Calenhad Docks where I hid in the longboat until it reached Redcliffe. I was headed to the Hinterlands, when I was apprehended by a templar named Irminric. I only know his name because we were stopped on the way back to Redcliffe by Teyrn Loghain and some of his men asked him.

"Some of the teyrn's men took the templar away while Loghain himself took me to a nearby inn to talk. At first, he only asked me a lot of questions about where I was from, my family, my time at the Circle, that kind of thing. Then, he asked me if I would do a great service for the crown by ridding the country of a traitor. He told me if I did, I would be rewarded with the title of Arcane Advisor to the King of Ferelden."

Solona's lids narrowed to glare at her childhood friend when he hesitated. The guilt swirling within his eyes caused her gut to tighten so severely, she had to fight the urge to vomit. Everything that happened in the village, the living dead, all those people, it was all Jowan's fault. Using blood magic, he had unleashed a demon on Redcliffe. As well as she thought she always knew the man standing before her, she realized in that moment, she didn't know him at all.

"What did you do?" she seethed through gritted teeth.

His shoulders slumped with an arduous sigh. "Loghain gave me a vial of poison to add to the arl's tea. He told me the arlessa was searching for an apostate to teach her son magic in secret, to offer my services in that capacity."

Solona barely managed to stifle a chuckle at that statement. Jowan was perhaps the worst apprentice in Kinloch who had been there more a year. The notion of him instructing anyone in the arcane arts was laughable.

"The boy is a mage?" she asked after regaining her composure. "And you thought teaching him to use blood magic to summon demons was a good idea?"

Jowan shook his head. "No! I never! I didn't get that far…Not that I would have taught him that anyway. Solona, what's happening here, it has nothing to do with me. All I did was poison the arl. I had barely been introduced to Connor at that point. Arl Eamon was dying. The physicians the arlessa called in said he was less than an hour from death. A few minutes later…that's when Connor began attacking the guards."

"So, the child is possessed, then," Solona concluded.

"I believe so, yes," her friend concurred. "The arlessa had me arrested immediately. She had her men torture me at first, then she came down to torture me herself. She was relentless, merciless. She demanded that I reverse whatever it was I did to Connor and Arl Eamon. When I told her I couldn't, that I didn't know how…" He shivered. "She came up with new and inventive ways to change my mind."

Alistair took a step toward the cell. "How long has it been since you've had food or water?"

The prisoner shrugged. "I don't know," he replied as tears began to stain his bruised and filthy cheeks. "Days, probably."

The future king retrieved the waterskin from his utility belt then handed it to Jowan. "Here," he offered. "Take it." As the prisoner uncorked the skin, Alistair passed a few elfroot leaves through the bars. "I don't have any potions on hand, but if you chew on these, it should help with the pain."

"Thank you," Jowan sniffled as he took the offering.

Solona couldn't help but relinquish a small smile when Alistair met her gaze. Most people would have left Jowan to suffer after learning of his crime, but not her fellow Warden. He showed kindness and mercy she had never witnessed in anyone before she met him. His deed reminded her of why she loved him. Why, no matter what the future held for the two of them, no matter who he was or who he was to someday become, she would always love him.

* * *

With a tilt of the wheel to the right followed by an easy correction to the left, _Yavana's Call_ entered the channel of Calenhad River. The ship's passage through the strait would be tricky, but the captain was confident in his navigational abilities enough not to be worried. A slow, steady hand at the helm was all that was required for such an endeavor, and it was a skill both he and his first mate readily possessed.

Although he knew Martinez could navigate the channel just as well as he could, Garrett chose to take care of the task himself. He needed time to think, to clear his head, to remind his heart of the pain love would eventually bring to pass. Over the previous few days, he and Miri had spent every meal, nearly every waking moment together. At first, he told himself it was because he wanted to ensure she was well after the ordeal of the kraken's attack, but, deep down, he knew it was a lie. The truth was, he enjoyed her company. Against his will and better judgement, he found himself enthralled by her stories about Julia and her time at the Circle and mesmerized by her innocence and beauty. She was unlike any woman he had ever met, and the escalating rhythm of his heart each time he was in her presence made it increasingly difficult to remind himself of the oath he took following Maggie's betrayal.

Since the day the ship was attacked, Garrett knew that, even had he wanted to pursue a relationship with the mage, it could never be. She was adamant about returning to the Circle, and wouldn't be dissuaded from that course. Before the sun set on the next day, she would be gone and out of his life forever. To think of her as anything more than a pleasant traveling companion at that point was simply foolish.

As he stared out across the narrow waterway, Garrett exhaled a labored breath. On the other side of that channel lay Miri's destiny and the final resting place of a small piece of his heart. It was a piece he never meant to give. One he could scarcely afford to lose.

* * *

After clambering out of the main hatch and onto the deck, Alistair spotted Solona leaning against the rail of the sloop's bow. He could tell by the way she held her shoulders, she was in a less than stellar mood. He couldn't really blame her, given the events of the past few days. Between battling the undead, finding Jowan in the dungeons, and dealing with a demon-possessed child, her nerves had to be completely worn raw. In front of the others, she seemed to handle it all in stride, as if none of it phased her one bit, but Alistair knew better. It was a show for their benefit. Nothing more.

As he made his way to the front of the small ship, Alistair was grateful that Teagan had the foresight to provide them with a quicker route to Kinloch than horses could afford. Instead of a week-long journey, the trip to the Circle only took the better part of two days and they were scheduled to arrive at Lake Calenhad Docks within the hour. Time was of the essence. The sooner they secured the mages they needed for the ritual to free Connor from the demon's possession, the better chance they had to save the boy.

When Alistair stopped just inches from Solona's back, he slipped his hands over her shoulders and began the attempt of easing some of the tension from them. A small moan escaped her lips as her head drooped to allow him better access to her stiff neck. The first time he offered to massage her shoulders the afternoon they left the docks at Redcliffe, she had been reluctant to give her permission, but when he had finished she was so appreciative she rewarded him with a hug and a kiss on his cheek.

"Your shoulders are as tight as the void," he observed. "Are you alright?"

The mage nodded. "Yes. I was just thinking…I'm going to conscript Anders."

It wasn't a request for his opinion on the matter. There wasn't even the hint of a question in her words. It was a simple statement given as a courtesy to let him know she planned to do something of which she knew he would never approve. He wanted to argue with her, to refuse to allow her to give into such foolishness, but he knew it would be a complete waste of breath. Once Solona was determined to act, there was no dissuading her.

Alistair's heart sank to his stomach as he continued working out the kinks in her muscles. With so much working against his hope to be closer to her, Anders joining them would be the final torch to the pyre. No matter how much the other man had hurt Solona in the past, she still loved him. It was a fact that was evident in her eyes every time she spoke his name. As much as Alistair hated the man and what he had done to his fellow Warden, he wouldn't deny her the opportunity to be with Anders if that's what she really wanted. He loved her too much to begrudge her the chance of happiness, even though he knew it would hurt her in the end. He would simply have to ensure he was there to pick up the pieces when the inevitable occurred.

"Alright," he said. "If that's what you want."

She turned to face him, her brow creased with confusion. "You're not going to argue with me? Tell me I'm being a complete idiot?"

"Is that what you want me to do?" he asked as he searched her eyes.

Her chest rose and fell with a heavy sigh. "Yes…no. I made a vow before I left the tower that I would get him out of there. I…I can't go back on that."

Alistair took her hands into his. "Solona, with Duncan and the rest of the Grey Wardens gone, you're the one in charge. I can advise you on what I think you should or shouldn't do, but the decision for everything is ultimately up to you. If you think conscripting Anders is a good idea, then do it. I'll back you up on whatever you decide."

Tears began to form in the mage's eyes lending even more brilliance to the golden flecks within the lapis pools of her irises. "Thank you," she said with an appreciative smile. "I know you think I'm making a mistake, but it's something I have to do."

He swallowed past a knot in his throat. "I know. One piece of advice?"

"Sure," she replied.

"You're the Warden Commander," he reminded her. "When you go in there, you need to put all your personal grudges aside. I know what a bastard Greagoir is, but you can't get into a pissing contest with him. Be concise. Be firm. Tell him what you require as far as the treaties and Connor are concerned. Once he has agreed to that, then inform him of the conscription. If he argues with you, tell him he has no choice in the matter. That even Grand Cleric Marcine wouldn't refuse the Right of Conscription, and you can use me as an example. If that still doesn't work, tell him you will write to the Divine personally to inform her that he refused to cooperate with the Grey Wardens during a Blight and with our numbers decimated at Ostagar, it would reflect very badly on his future with the templars and the Chantry."

Her smile broadened, but worry remained in her eyes. "Thank you. That is excellent advice."

Alistair gently placed his hands on the sides of her face and lightly caressed her cheeks with the flats of his thumbs. She was absolutely beautiful, and her uncharacteristic vulnerability only made him love her more. That she would allow him to see her in such a state spoke volumes of the trust and respect no one but she had ever afforded him. He inhaled a deep breath as he fought the urge to kiss her and narrowed his lids.

"One more thing," he told her as he lowered his forehead to press against hers. "You've got this."

* * *

The rhythmic sound of oars as they splashed and moved through the water from the sloop toward the tower did nothing to slow the racing of Solona's heart. Although her shoulders were squared and her face set in stone, internally she was a bundle of nerves. Because of the treaties, she knew she would be forced to return to the tower before the Blight was ended, but she had hoped the trip could be delayed just a little while longer. With Connor Guerrin's possession, however, she had no choice but to secure the alliance with the mages first.

Solona absentmindedly reached up to clutch the amulet that lay against her chest and began to thumb the tiny sword and flames etched into its surface. She was not only about to come face to face with her past and the life she left behind, but she was planning to take a part of it back with her. It had been more than a year since she laid eyes on Anders, and his hold on her had begun to fade. Would that still be true when his warm amber eyes once again stared into hers? Or would all those old feelings come back to overtake her heart and her senses just the way they always had?

In an effort to keep her mind off the destiny that lay ahead of her, the mage began to survey her surroundings. She turned her head to the right toward the narrow channel of Calenhad River and caught sight of an approaching ship. It was still far enough away that she couldn't quite make out the colors it flew, but the black mainsail fluttering at half-mast made it clear the craft was no mere merchant's vessel. It was a pirate ship, not unlike the one which Solona traveled to Kinloch on when she first arrived at the Circle as a girl.

"Are you alright?" Alistair inquired. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

The mage's lids narrowed as she continued to observe the ship in the distance. "I'm not entirely sure I haven't," she mumbled.

"What?" her fellow Warden asked.

Solona shook her head. "Nothing."


	32. Return To The Tower

The front entryway of the tower was in chaos. Injured templars lined the walls, tended by others who didn't look to be in much better shape than their patients. The guard at the door told the Wardens there was trouble, but wouldn't elaborate on its nature. If the sheer terror in the eyes of most of those templars was any indication, whatever was going on was beyond bad.

While Alistair fought the temptation to help give aid to the wounded, Solona marched toward a group of templars standing in the center of the room beyond the great pillars. Her countenance was cool and her back straight when she approached the Knight Commander who was busy poring over reports attached to the clipboard clutched in his hand. He peered up from the papers just long enough to take note of the woman standing before him, then went back to perusing the documents.

The mage folded her arms across her chest and arched a brow with a resonant sigh as she awaited proper acknowledgement from the templar commander. After several more minutes of being ignored, Solona finally retrieved one of the scrolls tucked in the pouch at her belt and slapped it down upon Greagoir's clipboard.

"As Warden Commander, I am here on behalf of the Grey Wardens," she informed him, her voice unwavering. "That treaty compels the mages to aid us in our endeavors against the Blight."

The Knight Commander's eyes skimmed over the document. When he was finished, he dropped the parchment on the ground then regarded the mage with a sneer.

"If you haven't noticed, _Warden,_ " he growled. "We have enough troubles of our own without dealing with your ilk at the moment. I'm afraid you've arrived at both the wrong time and place to retrieve aid from mages."

"What do you mean?" she questioned. "What's going on?"

"There has been…an incident," he explained. "It seems we have a bit of a rebellion on our hands."

"Well," Solona drawled with a bored expression. "What do you expect when you oppress a group of people as long as the Circle has? I would say rebellion was inevitable."

Greagoir's lids narrowed as he stared daggers at the mage. The hatred in his eyes was matched only by that in Solona's. The mutual abhorrence between the two couldn't have been more obvious, leaving Alistair to seriously begin to question which of them was going to strike at the other first.

A sly smile played at the corner of the Knight Commander's lips. "At least the one who started it is dead. When the Right of Annulment arrives, we templars can finish the job and purge the tower of the rest of the ingrates."

Alistair felt his stomach drop. The Right of Annulment. Surely not every mage in the Circle of Ferelden was involved. There were children there, some barely old enough to leave their mother's skirts if Solona's own history was any indication. What of them?

"Not that I can blame the mage," Solona quipped. "But who was it that started this revolution?"

"Why, your boyfriend," Greagoir replied with a malicious grin. "He was apparently a blood mage. He and his followers called demons down upon the Circle and the templars. Fortunately, one of his own ripped him to shreds."

Alistair stared blankly at his fellow Warden. She told him that Jowan had used blood magic to escape the tower, but she never once mentioned Anders was a maleficar. In fact, other than the way the healer treated her and other women, he didn't seem the type from her descriptions. At the same time, neither did Jowan until the point he used the forbidden magic the day he fled Kinloch.

"Bullshit," Solona seethed, her chest rising and falling with righteous indignation. "Anders may be many things, but he isn't a blood mage and he certainly is no murderer. He could have killed your templars a dozen times over, but he never did any more harm than putting them to sleep with a potion in their food."

"Yes, because there is no way a mage who escaped the Circle six times and spent a year in the lower dungeons would ever become mad or desperate enough to resort to dark magic in order to escape again," the Knight Commander countered calmly. "It has been proven time and again, mages will always turn to blood magic and demons if their backs are pushed too far against the wall."

The space between Solona's eyebrows disappeared as she contemplated Greagoir's words. She glanced at Alistair, who greeted her with a sympathetic frown. All at once, her face took on an expression of calm as she donned the mask of indifference she wore all too well, then returned her attention to the templar commander.

"It doesn't matter how this began or who started it," she told him. "I require the aid of the mages. Without the Chantry's sanction to perform the Right, you have no recourse but to stand around and wait while innocent people continue to be slaughtered, including your templars trapped inside, I might add. I, on the other hand, am not bound by your rules.

"Allow my companion and I entrance, and we will resolve this problem for you, on the condition that if there are any who can be saved, they will be committed to aiding the Grey Wardens. If it is a lost cause and there are none left but the possessed and the guilty, we will do your job for you and put them down ourselves. If we die in the process, it will simply be one less headache you will be forced to contend with."

Greagoir's scowl deepened as he studied the mage's face, gauging the truth and benefit of her proposal. Alistair held his breath as the already thick tension in the air grew to stifling proportions. After an overly long silence between the two commanders, the templar exhaled a resonant sigh.

"Fine," he huffed. "But I will only accept that the situation is resolved if Irving informs me of it himself. If he lives, I will abide by your demands. If he is dead, the bargain is made invalid.

"I agree to those terms," Solona conceded. "I will escort the First Enchanter to you personally. However, if I am successful in my endeavors, you will not only supply mages to the cause, but templars as well. At least two dozen."

"Very well, _Commander,_ " Greagoir concurred, obviously unconcerned of her ability to achieve such a lofty goal. He turned to the two templars guarding the inner entrance to the tower and bellowed, "Open the doors and allow them through."

Without another word to Solona or any acknowledgement to Alistair, the Knight Commander spun on his heel and made his way to the side of the room opposite the door to speak to one of his men. There was no emotion, no hint of Solona's thoughts in her expression as she turned and began marching toward the inner entryway. When the heavy doors were pulled wider apart, Alistair gagged against the smell of copper and rot wafting out from the corridor.

A faint scream echoing from somewhere in the distance chilled him to the bone as the doors were shut behind them, prompting Solona to stop in her tracks. When she turned her face toward him, her blue eyes shimmered in the light of the lyrium lamp on the wall at his back. He held her gaze as he awaited the breakdown he knew was inevitable.

"He didn't do this," she whispered.

Alistair nodded. "Alright."

She took a step toward him, then hesitated before drawing a ragged breath. Her jaw tightened against the clenching of her teeth, announcing her renewed determination. She was committed, fully prepared to face the grim task that lay ahead, and resolute she would succeed in both gaining the allies they required and clearing her former lover's name.

* * *

Miriana sensed great turmoil in both the Veil and the Fade before the immense doors leading into Kinloch Hold were ever opened to reveal the chaos inside. She attempted to voice her concerns to Garrett when they traversed the path toward the tower, but she wasn't sure he understood the implication of her words. He simply squeezed her hand and told her everything would be alright. The gesture did make her feel a bit better, but by the time they reached the doors, the alarms sounding within her were too loud to ignore.

 _Beware. There are demons here, Miriana. Uncontained and hungry. Angry and unsatisfied. Feasting on blood and fear. Forever ravenous, forever thirsting for more._

Faith's voice in the mage's head had grown so loud, Miriana's knees buckled from the pain. She grabbed hold of Garrett's arm just inside the entrance to brace herself, praying to the Maker she wouldn't faint. The pirate gathered her in his arms and peered down at her with concern.

"Are you alright, love?"

She managed a nod and a weak smile. "Yes, I'm fine."

"Is it that disturbance you were talking about on the way up here?" he questioned.

"Yes," she told him with a troubled frown. "Something's happened. Something horrible."

Garrett surveyed their surroundings for several moments before lowering his mouth to her ear. "Whatever it is," he whispered. "It's got the templars buggered enough I don't think they've even noticed us. What say we get back to the ship and leave them to deal with it?"

As much as she wanted to agree to his request, as frightened as she was, Miriana couldn't just walk away. They were only in the corridor, and already faced with more death and destruction than she had ever been witness to. She was a mage of the Circle. If there was any way to help the people in the tower, she was determined to try.

She waggled her head against his scruffy jaw. "No," she said. "I have to find out what's going on. To help if I can."

A rush of warm breath caressed her cheek before her companion returned to his full height. He presented her with a tilt of his head, his left brow arched with concern.

"As you wish, love," he told her. "I am at your disposal."

Before Miriana could express her gratitude for his understanding, they were approached by an older templar whose armor bore the markings that announced his position as Knight Commander. He glowered at Miriana with such animosity, it prompted a gasp.

"I thought I already sent you through, _Commander,_ " he sneered before eyeing Garrett with a disgusted frown. "I suppose you needed more backup than you thought, eh?"

"Excuse me, mate," the pirate interrupted. "I believe you must have the lady confused with someone else. We've only just arrived." He took a quick glance around the room. "Love what you've done with the place, by the way. Very homey. The wounded templars and the blood are a particularly nice touch."

The templar's face turned crimson with anger. "There is nothing funny about the suffering of templars, churl. It would behoove you to hold your tongue."

Garrett took a step toward the Knight Commander, his lips curled in an unconcerned smirk. "Trust me, mate. Many a men have tried to shut me up over the years. I doubt you'd fare any better than they."

"Are you threating me, lout?" the templar questioned through narrowed lids.

"Not a threat, mate," the pirate countered. "Just a warning. But where are my manners?" He took a step back and flourished a bow. "Captain Hawke of _Yavana's Call._ " He gestured to the mage at his side with a wave of his hand. "And this bonny lass is Miriana. She lost her escorts during a most unfortunate incident in Highever involving a very nasty group of Tevinters and asked me to bring her to Kinloch. Though, I can't imagine why. It seems you've run into a bit of trouble here."

"Yes," the other man said. "But it is no concern of yours."

"Perhaps I can be of service," Garrett offered. "I'm quite handy in a fight, if I do say so myself."

"We've already had enough interference," the Knight Commander refused. "We don't need some thug pirate involved."

"Your loss, mate," Garrett told him with a shrug. "But judging by the state of the place, I'd wager a pirate is exactly what you need. And what would it cost you if we fail? A couple of more bodies to add to the pyre when it's over? But I guarantee you, mate." He gave the templar a wink. " _I_ won't fail."

The Knight Commander's nostrils flared. "Maybe you're right. If nothing else, letting you through to get killed would shut you up." He called to the templars at the inner doors. "Let them through!"

The pirate clicked his teeth with another wink. "That's the spirit, mate. I knew you had to be smarter than you look." The templar didn't have time to counter the insult before Garrett grabbed Miriana's hand and began leading her to the doors. "Come along, love. There are mages to rescue and templar asses to pull from the fire."

Miriana had never heard anyone speak to a templar in that manner before, let alone a Knight Commander. Garrett seemed so nonchalant, so cavalier about the entire situation, but something in the way he squeezed her hand revealed an unease the templars would never detect from his outer bravado. He was worried, even a bit frightened perhaps.

Once the doors were shut behind them, the full weight of what lay ahead finally hit Miriana with the foul odor of blood and rotting flesh in the air. The pull of demons and dark magic were stronger on the other side of that entryway, but there was something else as well. Something light and familiar. A kindred spirit in the abyss.

 _There is another here. A twin soul to my own. A mirror to you._

Though still overly loud and echoing, Faith's voice was quieter, contemplating in that moment. Almost as if she were whispering in her own ethereal way. It was an odd sensation, a mix of longing and anticipation for whatever lay ahead.

Garrett and Miriana followed the corridor around until they reached a large chamber with another hallway on the other side which had been blocked by a magical barrier. Between them and the wide arch stood a group of people. Four women and two children in robes and another woman and man in blue and silver armor with their backs turned to the pirate and the newly arrived mage. Garrett took a step forward, placing his body between Miriana's and the crowd.

"Is this a private soiree?" he asked. "Or can anyone join the party?"

The woman in the uniform turned to confront the owner of the voice. Miriana felt her heart begin beating in her throat. After fourteen years, she was confronted by a face she thought she would never again see outside of a looking glass.

The woman in uniform took two steps forward, then stopped in her tracks. Her lapis eyes went wide for only a second when they locked onto those of the woman standing behind the pirate. A moment later, her expression turned to one of indifference.

"No need to hide, Miri," she said. "I ceased biting years ago."

* * *

Solona could scarcely believe it. After all that time, fourteen long years, she looked into the eyes of the sister she thought she would never see again. When she told Miri she ceased biting years ago, she hoped it might garner a smile from the woman who was a mirror image of herself and whose expression bore the shock she felt.

After days of mental preparation, by the time she reached the doors leading into the tower, the young Warden had been primed for a confrontation with Greagoir and to face Anders again. When she discovered the truth of what was going on inside and the knowledge of her former lover's death, it sent Solona's mind reeling. Between all that, the emotional whirlwind with Alistair, and the Blight, it felt as if her entire world was already spiraling completely out of control. For fate to add this new twist was almost more than her overly taxed mind could bear.

"Solona?" Miriana asked after stepping around the tall stranger who stood as her guard. "Is it really you?"

"Unless you have another twin sister," the young Warden drawled as her eyes fell upon the man standing next to Miri.

He acknowledged her with an uneven grin. "A pleasure to see you again, love. Though, you've grown a bit since last we met."

Solona's brow arced in question as she tried to place Miriana's escort. There was something very familiar about his eyes, but she couldn't quite remember where she knew him from. He was obviously a few years older than her, probably Anders' age or near to it. The ebony hilts at his waist, not quite hidden by his long leather duster, divulged the fact he most likely possessed no magical talent. His dark attire was that of a rogue, probably a pirate, given its design.

 _A pirate._

The young mage recalled the ship she saw approaching the lake from the river channel. He was far too young to be the captain of the vessel that carried her to Kinloch, and his leg was whole, not a wooden stump. Suddenly, recognition dawned on her. That captain had a son, a tall young man in his teenage years who served her a plate of fish, which she promptly threw at his head. He had cursed profusely while cleaning up the mess, but later brought a platter of fruit for her to enjoy, only allowing her to have it after she promised not to toss it at him.

"The boy with the fish," Solona said with a smile.

"Aye, love," he affirmed with a widened smirk. "The knot you left with that plate healed quite a long time ago, but the memory of it haunts me still, I'm afraid. To this day, I can't look upon a platter of fish without thinking of you."

That smirk, the mischievous salacity twinkling in his aquamarine eyes, spoke of a man who wouldn't be opposed to a tumble that came without strings. He was obviously arrogant, confident of his prowess with blades as well as carnal skill, exactly the type of man she vowed to keep a safe distance from after everything she had endured with Anders over the years. The pirate definitely posed danger to the heart of any woman who ever dared to fall in love with him.

Solona, however, had no intention of allowing anyone, let alone a man like that, anywhere near her heart. What she needed was a distraction, a temporary calm in the eye of the storm that only the most base of pleasures could give her. She didn't want him to love her. She merely wanted him to bed her.

She took a step toward him, then regarded her sister out of the corner of her eye. Although she was in the company of a pirate, Miri still wore the robes of a Circle mage. Her hair was pulled into a long braid that hung over her shoulder like a young girl and the pale skin of her face was completely unadorned by makeup. In her eyes, there was an innocence only held by a woman who had never known the touch of a man.

The remembrance of Anders and everything he had put her through flashed through Solona's mind, and a protective nature she hadn't experienced since she was a child instinctively kicked in. Although they hadn't seen each other in more than fourteen years, Miriana was still her sister. She recalled the soft-spoken, timid, nervous twin she shared everything with when they were young girls and how tightly Miri had clung to her following their mother's abandonment. Falling in love with Anders had corrupted Solona's soul with bitterness, anguish, and anger. She would be damned if she would allow a man like that to do the same to Miriana. Her determination to turn the pirate's attention to her increased tenfold in that moment, and she garnered it with a wanton smile.

"Then perhaps we should work on giving you _better_ memories of me, no?"

"I might be able to come up with a few things in that regard," he told her with a playful wink. "Perhaps you and I should…get together later and chart a course or two?"

The sound of Alistair clearing his throat behind her prompted Solona back to the reality of the grim task that lay ahead, but her eyes never left the pirate's. "Unfortunately, those plans will have to be put on hold a while. For now, though, it would be nice to know the name I intend to be calling out when those courses are charted."

The man took her hand and flourished a bow, his lustful gaze still locked to hers. "Captain Hawke of _Yavana's Call_ ," he said before gracing her knuckles with a soft kiss. "At your service, love."

* * *

Alistair wasn't sure what to think of the tall man in black leather at first. The warrior never recalled seeing anyone of his like before. At the same time, something about the dark stranger seemed oddly familiar. Perhaps it was the eyes. They were the same aquamarine color as Gabby's and her father's. Then, it donned on him.

 _Redcliffe._

He was the tall boy who was with the Couslands when they visited the castle the summer after Alistair's sixth birthday. The bully who picked him up and deposited him into a shit-filled pile of hay after Alistair tried to tell him he was mucking the stall wrong. For some reason, the Couslands left early during that trip and Lady Isolde banned that boy from ever returning to Castle Redcliffe. It was the only time Alistair ever felt gratitude toward the wretched woman.

The future king glared at the man, just as he heard Solona say, "Then perhaps we should work on giving you _better_ memories of me, no?"

Alistair's heart sank into his stomach. Even with his limited experience with women, the meaning behind his fellow Warden's words were quite obvious. Any hope he had that the two of them would ever be anything more than friends was lost in that moment, not that there was much hope to begin with.

He heard the older mage they encountered when they entered the chamber breathe a perturbed sigh, reminding Alistair of their purpose for being at the Circle in the first place. He cleared his throat loudly enough to garner Solona's attention, then turned his gaze away. He simply couldn't bear to watch her throw herself at the rogue another second.

The very next moment, his eyes met with those of his fellow Warden's sister. The dejection he beheld within them nearly took his breath, even more than her unembellished beauty. With only one look, Alistair could see that Miriana was Solona's opposite in every way. Within those lapis eyes, there was kindness, softness, and innocence. A quiet nature her sister simply didn't possess.

As the man speaking to Solona introduced himself as Captain Hawke, Miriana's expression made it obvious the flirting between her escort and her sister had hurt her feelings. Without regard to his own anguish and with no motive other than to lessen her apparent heartbreak, Alistair presented Miriana with a smile of understanding. The slight furrow of her brow made him wonder if she mistook his intention at first, until she returned his gesture with a small smile of her own.

* * *

Miriana's shoulders slumped as she watched the exchange between her sister and Garrett. It was the exact thing she had experienced dozens of times with Julia back in Ostwick. The way the captain stared at her twin told Miriana everything she needed to know and revealed exactly what she suspected all along. A man like Garrett would never find any real interest in a woman such as herself. Solona, on the other hand, was still the same bold and confident girl Miri remembered from her youth, but with the added benefit of a noticeably toned body, careful grooming, and sexual experience.

The young Circle mage's cheeks flushed with humiliation over how pathetic Garrett must have found her naivety. All those conversations they had, all that time they spent together was just him being hospitable. He was never really interested in her, he simply felt sorry for her. A slight twinge in her chest and stomach forced Miriana to divert her attention away from the flirtatious banter between her sister and the pirate. The bile rising in her throat was already threatening to erupt. Vomiting would only serve to embarrass her more.

As she scanned the faces of the other people in the room, Miri's gaze fell upon a handsome man in armor similar to Solona's. He regarded her with a kind smile and hazel green eyes filled with quiet concern. Though he attempted to mask it, Miriana recognized the same malady she herself was suffering from in that moment. Heartache. She returned his smile with one of her own hoping that her own small gesture of kindness was exactly what they both needed.

* * *

The lust in the young woman's eyes was more than apparent to Garrett, but there was something more within those gold-flecked pools of lapis. Something all too familiar, something he had witnessed countless times over the years, a fear with which he was well acquainted and used to build a wall around his own heart. Beneath the flirtatious smile and the unquestionable meaning behind the words she spoke, Solona reminded the captain of a young Isabela, of himself. All unenviable individuals, hardened and embittered by life and the promise of love gone wrong.

Two years older than Garrett, Isabela was only fourteen when first they met aboard the _Call_. Back before she became a ship's captain and feared pirate. Back before her con artist mother found religion in the Qun and sold her into a loveless marriage to a cruel man. Back when she still retained some of her innocence. Back when she was still Naishe.

Naishe was Garrett's first love, and he hers. They even toyed with the idea of getting married someday. Unfortunately, circumstance ripped the young lovers' relationship apart when Naishe's mother, Madam Hari, traded her to a much older Antivan businessman for just enough coin to afford her passage to Par Vollen. Luis, who was the business partner of a high ranking Antivan Crow, married Naishe just weeks before the young woman's nineteenth birthday.

Nearly a year passed without a word from Naishe, and a broken-hearted Garrett assumed she was happy in her new life until he received a desperate message from her, begging for his aid. In her letter, Naishe described her husband as a man who had turned cruel and heartless. One who treated his young wife as his own personal prostitute he would lend out to fellow businessmen for whatever pleasures they desired from her. Garrett immediately went to Naishe's rescue and killed Luis in his sleep, affording her the chance to escape with a bag of rare jewels, a set of daggers the young pirate gave to her, and her husband's ship. That was the evening Naishe died and Isabela was born.

Against Marko's wishes, Garrett left _Yavana's Call_ and became captain of Isabela's newly acquired ship, _Siren's Call,_ under the pseudonym, the Jackdaw. For the next year, Garrett taught the young woman everything he knew about blades, sailing, and piracy. They were happy, or so he thought, until he once again brought up the subject of marriage and raising a family together. Soon after, he found himself tied to a bed in an inn in Llomerryn with his blades missing and a farewell note from Isabela.

Although Marko was unhappy with his son's choices, he recognized Garrett's success as a captain during the young pirate's year aboard the _Siren's Call_ and rewarded Garrett by passing the mantle of captain of his own beloved lady over to him. Garrett dropped his given name entirely the day of Marko's retirement in favor of the more suitable, Captain Hawke, and, within a few short months, became the most feared pirate in the seven seas. His success, however, never overshadowed his heartbreak or Isabela's betrayal.

When he finally caught up to his former love, Captain Hawke boarded her ship and challenged her to a duel. After only fifteen minutes, the engagement of blades between the two captains ended in a tumble in Isabela's cabin. Peace was brokered between them and they remained lovers over the following years, but Garrett would never again be foolish enough to allow their relationship to become anything more than sex and a close friendship. He finally realized, Naishe loved him, Isabela never did.

After Maggie broke his heart a few years later, Garrett vowed the only woman he ever needed was Isabela. Although he had many offers for sex by many different women since that time, he never entertained the notion. He knew exactly where he stood with Isabela. They were kindred souls who understood the dangers and the pain love could bring. Both of them committed to never allowing anyone that near their hearts again.

As Garrett stared into the eyes of the young Grey Warden standing before him, offering him the promise of a romp if they survived the day, he recognized the same oath he had taken. Someone, somewhere, had done a thorough job of destroying her faith. Like Isabela, he felt Solona could be trusted not to combine emotion with sexual pleasure. She would be a safe distraction from the danger Miriana posed to his heart. A distraction he needed to jar him away from the affection he was doing his level best not to feel.

He presented the Warden with a bow and a smirk, affirming his agreement to her carnal request with his eyes. "Captain Hawke of _Yavana's Call_. At your service, love."

* * *

As horrifying as the devastation surrounding the children's dormitories had been, it was nothing compared to that of the areas beyond the magically shielded archway leading into the apprentices' quarters. Upon traversing the opening, Solona and the others were greeted by the sight of blood and gore blanketing the walls and floors. Everywhere the young Warden turned, dead eyes stared up at her from the terrified faces of people she had known for the better part of her young life. Nothing could have prepared her for the deplorable catastrophe that had befallen the inner chambers of Kinloch Hold.

As the Wardens and their new companions fought their way through the demons and the possessed, Solona was grateful she accepted Captain Hawke's aid. As skilled as Alistair, Leliana, and Sithig were, she had never seen anyone as good with a blade as the pirate. He moved with such expert grace, he seemed to dance with his enemies more than battle them. His strikes were deadly and his evasions masterful as he worked his way across the library to the steps leading to the second floor.

When they reached the stockroom at the top of the stairs, they found the tranquil, Owain, attempting to organize shelves amid the chaos. He went about his task with purpose, as if nothing out of the ordinary was occurring around him. To him, it appeared to be just another day.

Wynne shook her head with a weary sigh. "Owain, what are you doing here?"

"My job," the sedate man answered in his usual monotone. "The stockroom is a mess."

Captain Hawke arched a questioning brow. "What in the void is wrong with him?" he inquired of Solona in a whisper.

"He's a tranquil," she replied. When her response only seemed to confuse the pirate further, she added, "A mage cut off from the Fade and his gift. I'll explain later, after we get out of this mess."

"Why didn't you try to escape with the others?" the Senior Enchanter asked.

"Niall told me to stay here," Owain replied. "He said it would be safer. He and Anders were here looking for the Litany of Adralla."

The Litany was used as a protection against mind control by blood mages. If Anders was there searching for it, that meant he was fighting against those who started the rebellion. Although she tried her best not to believe Greagoir's account of what happened and the healer's involvement, there was still a part of her that feared the Knight Commander may have been telling the truth. Wynne had already told them that Senior Enchanter Uldred was the one who instigated the events before they entered the apprentices' dormitory, but Solona was reluctant to ask about her former lover. With Owain's story adding the final piece of the puzzle, Anders' innocence became unquestionable in the young Warden's mind. It also made her begin to wonder, if Greagoir had lied about Anders' involvement, perhaps he had also lied about the healer's death.

"Anders was here?" Solona questioned, earning her a dark look from Alistair.

The tranquil man bobbed his head slowly. "Yes, but he left before Niall did."

"I saw him in the chamber where we met up with you," Wynne interjected with a forlorn expression. "He charged Zaria and paralyzed her, but she managed to escape the spell when she turned into an abomination. She attacked him, began ripping him to shreds. I overtaxed my mana trying to stop her, so much that I fainted."

A flutter of hope entered the Warden mage's heart while dread turned her gut at the same time. "So he's alive?"

The Senior Enchanter waggled her head, and any hope Solona had of Anders' survival died with the gesture. "I'm sorry, dear."

* * *

Room after room, the Wardens battled their way up the tower, clearing away any threats and searching for survivors. So far, the only person they found who was either not involved in the uprising or bewitched by blood magic was the tranquil storeroom keeper. Everyone else they encountered attacked them on sight.

Although it was a tragedy that should have never occurred, fighting demons, maleficar, and possessed templars afforded Alistair the opportunity to keep his mind off his troubled heart. Between her behavior toward the pirate and the way she had basically ignored his presence since meeting the rogue and her sister, Solona told her fellow Warden everything he needed to know. They were comrades in arms, friends, nothing more. Alistair simply wasn't her type, and her flirting with the captain in front of him made that fact more abundantly clear.

Alistair wanted to hate the pirate. He had every reason to, but somehow, he just couldn't. Even knowing who the man was and given what he had done to him in their youth, the warrior still found Captain Hawke's rakish charm intriguing. As much as he didn't want to admit it, and never would to anyone else, there was an almost instantaneous attraction he couldn't deny. One he had never felt for any man he had met before.

Given the unusual color of the pirate's eyes and his surname, Alistair was left to wonder if the captain might somehow be related to the serving girl from Lothering. Captain Hawke certainly looked like Gabby's father when he encountered the man all those years ago at Castle Redcliffe's stables. Perhaps the pirate was a cousin or even an older brother of the woman with whom he had become infatuated. He made a mental note to ask the captain if they managed to survive the horror of Kinloch.

Wynne had surmised that, since they had yet to encounter Uldred, he would most likely be holed up in the Harrowing Chamber at the uppermost portion of the tower. Unfortunately, when the Wardens and their companions reached the fourth floor, they found the steps leading directly to the templar floor completely destroyed. Without that stairway, they had no hope of completing their task.

"We should see if the back stairs are still intact," Wynne offered.

"Uldred would need a way to return to the main floor," Solona agreed. "Otherwise, there was no point to any of this, and I seriously doubt he would remove the boards from the fifth floor windows and jump."

"That would be a good way to end it though," Captain Hawke interjected. "Perhaps we should help the man with that task."

"We have to find him first," Solona reminded the rogue. "Then we push him out a window."

After clearing the smaller chambers on the fourth floor, the Wardens and their companions came to a single door in the middle of an expansive wall to their left. "This training room will lead us to the back stairwell," Wynne told them as she turned the handle and gave the wood a shove of her knuckles. "Once on the fifth floor, we will go through the templar barracks to the center chamber. That's where…"

The Senior Enchanter was stopped mid-sentence by the presence of an abomination larger than any they had encountered up until that point. Its muscles and skin were twisted as if its entire body had been turned inside out and wrenched around itself in odd and putrid angles. Its shoulders looked like giant boulders had fused to them beneath the creature's gnarled and spiked flesh and ended at a pair of long arms with extensive razor sharp claws as fingers. The only thing visible of its face beneath the armor of distorted bone and skin was a bulbous nose, one eye and a rotting cheek. At its feet lay the body of a dark-haired man dressed in green mage's robes with lifeless eyes. The creature stared at the intruders with what Alistair could only assume was a hidden, malevolent grin.

"Welcome," it greeted in a low, gravelly, echoing tone.

Although its voice sent a cold shiver down the Warden's spine, there was something almost melodic and soothing about the sound. The room suddenly grew warm as if a cozy fire had been waiting after spending hours out in the cold. The inviting scents of cedar, warm bread, and freshly washed linens hung in the air, making Alistair feel as if he were home at last and could finally rest upon returning from a long journey. His eyes grew so heavy, he could barely keep them open. Through the cloud of exhaustion in his vision, he saw a cheerful little man with a kind smile.

"Sleep," the man whispered. "All your burdens will be gone if you only slumber."


	33. A New Dawn's Light

**A/N: Translation of the spell included in this chapter at the end.**

* * *

By the time they reached the demon of Sloth, Solona was more than ready to kill something, anything. That entire experience in the Fade had been nothing but one long nightmare for her. If murdering Anders' likeness wasn't difficult enough, she had to deal with Alistair's dream of that barmaid in Lothering and him making doe eyes at her sister. Obviously, his rejection of her earlier advances had nothing to do with his sexual orientation after all. He just didn't want her.

Miri and that serving girl could have him. She didn't need the kind of headache romance would bring, anyway. They would remain friends until the end of the Blight, then go their separate ways. He would become king, and she would stay with the Grey Wardens, just the way the spirits of fate apparently wished it to be.

As she traversed the bunks of the templars' quarters, that notion induced a queasy feeling in the pit of Solona's stomach. Once again, she was forced to ask, why did everyone she ever cared about eventually leave? Was it because she had a tendency to cling to the wrong people? Or was it simply because there was something about her that made her unlovable? Unable to be cared for?

Garrett cautiously opened the door at the other end of the room that led into the center rotunda and the stairway to the Harrowing Chamber. Instead of proceeding through the exit, he stopped and simply stood there with a confused expression.

"Now that's something you don't see every day," he mused.

Solona pushed past the others to determine for herself what kind of trouble was about to befall them. When the pirate pulled the door open further for her, she gasped. Inside the room, right next to the stairs, was a large cage constructed of magical energy, its glow tinged with light red. It extended from floor to ceiling and circumferenced a great portion of the room. Within its confines, knelt a single man wearing templar armor, his forehead pressed tightly against his clasped hands in prayer. Solona recognized him right away by the wave of his blonde hair.

"Cullen," she breathed.

"You know that bloke, love?" Garrett questioned.

"I do," she said as she slipped past the pirate and into the room.

She walked to the barrier and halted in front of the templar, just outside the confines of the trap. When he lifted his face, his whiskey brown eyes held such fear and hatred it nearly took Solona's breath. The man who had confessed his love for her just a few short months before was completely gone. The one left in his absence grimaced at her with pure loathing.

"Be gone, demon," he bellowed as he scrambled to his feet. "Your foul tricks won't work. You have nothing I want to offer." He then squeezed his lids shut and began to mutter the Transfigurations. "O Maker, hear my cry. Guide me through the blackest nights. Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked. Make me to rest in the warmest places."

Garrett appeared at her side and arched his left brow as he watched the man within the magical barrier. "What in the bloody void is he talking about?"

Solona exhaled an agitated sigh. "He's speaking part of the Chant." She snapped her fingers in an effort to garner the templar's attention. "Cullen. For the Maker's fucking sake, wake the void up."

His lids flew open and a mixture of terror and turmoil mired his features. "Still here? How is that possible? I shut my eyes. You're supposed to be gone when I open them." His expression became pleading as he neared the border of the cage. "What do you want from me? How much more am I expected to take before you find enough mercy to kill me?"

The templar dropped to his knees once more. "Please…if there is anything human in you at all, you will end this torture now." He buried his face in his hands and began rocking back and forth. "She's dead. Solona is dead and taunting me mercilessly with the one thing I've always wanted but could never really have is beyond the worst cruelty. She was the only woman I have ever loved. A mage of all things. I…I know it was wrong. I know it went against everything I stand for. I will confess it a million times if that's what you want to hear, if that's what will please you most, but for the love of all that's holy, please just let me die when it's done."

Garrett pulled the cutlass at his left hip and spun it. "This one's a lost cause, love. Let me put him out of his bloody misery."

"He's not a wounded dog, Garrett," Solona argued. The use of the pirate's given name earned her a slight scowl from the man, which she ignored. "We're not just going to kill him."

"Friend of yours, I take it?" the captain questioned.

"In a manner of speaking," the mage sighed. "I'm fairly certain _I_ am the mage he's referring to."

* * *

 _Cullen_

Of all the templars in Kinloch, it had to be him, and to find out he was in love with Solona made the situation even worse. After everything that bastard put him through in the monastery, Alistair was almost tempted to allow the captain to run him through. Almost.

Cullen should have been able to free himself of the magical trap. It was a powerful spell, but it wasn't infallible. By his blubbering and the crazed look in the young templar's eyes, it was obvious the man was in the throes of withdrawal. Whoever was responsible for ensnaring Cullen must have used other means of torture on him until his system was completely devoid of lyrium. After that, the templar would be rendered so weak, even the smallest of spells would hold him. The barrier devised from blood magic was completely unnecessary and seemed more a way for the mage who cast it to flaunt his power than anything else.

Alistair took a few steps forward and stopped when he reached Solona's side. "I'll take care of the spell."

"Alistair?" Cullen questioned upon hearing his former friend's voice. He peered up at the other man, the lines of his brow creased from distress. "All the misdeeds of my past truly have come back to haunt me. Does the cruelty of demons really have no bounds?"

"Are you sure that's a good idea, mate?" Garrett questioned. "He's a right sight out of it and may attack us as soon as that shield's gone."

Alistair gestured to Cullen. "Look at him. He may be out of his head, but he's also weak as fuck. I'm fairly certain the five of us can handle one half-starved templar."

"I've seen a lot of desperate men perform desperate acts over my days," the pirate argued. "I'll keep my sword out and my guard up, anyway, mate. If it's all the same to you."

The warrior shrugged dismissively. "Whatever works for you there, pal."

He closed his eyes and cleared his mind, focusing on the flickering flame of a lone candle in the darkness. Typical, everyday spells didn't require such intense concentration to negate them. Disrupting most magic normally entailed a simple thought for Alistair, but the barrier devised from blood magic was more powerful than most he was accustomed to.

As the grey tendrils of smoke floated toward him in his vision, Alistair could feel the energy emanating from the shield begin to wane. Within a few short moments, he opened his eyes to see the last of the magic dissipate into nothingness. The very second the air was cleared, Cullen removed the sword from his back and lunged toward his former friend, spurring Garrett to use the pommel of his cutlass to whack the templar in the back of his head.

When Cullen crumpled to the floor in an unconscious heap, the pirate arced his left brow and drove his blade back into its scabbard. "I tried to warn you, mate. Maybe next time you'll listen."

 _Smug bastard._

Alistair wanted to say the words aloud. He wanted to tell the pirate to just get over himself, but he couldn't bring himself to do it under the gaze of those aquamarine eyes. Instead, he mumbled the only thing the fluttering knot in his stomach would allow.

"Yeah. Thanks."

Suddenly, the murmuring chants echoing down from the overhead chamber turned to screaming and cries of pain. Wynne gasped then pulled her staff before rushing to the stairway.

"We have to help them," she exclaimed as she ascended the steps. "Now!"

"Wait," Solona commanded, but the senior enchanter was already at the door. The Warden pulled the scroll she retrieved from the mage's body in the room where they encountered the sloth demon and quickly began to read aloud.

*" _In voltus, Vocare nos lucis obiectu_ _Et clipeum, Ad tantae cladis finem_ _Ex magica vacuum, Oculis et auribus resistere_ _Virtutem autem interfecit, Et visio desistere"_

As soon as she was finished speaking the words of the spell, Solona rolled up the parchment and shoved it at her sister. "Keep that thing handy. You may need to use it again while we're up there." With an angry scowl, the young Warden stomped toward the stairway. When she reached the bottom step, she turned to her remaining companions. "Are the rest of you coming? Or are you just going to stand there like idiots while I do all the work?"

* * *

After the maleficar and their leader who started the entire mess were defeated, there were only sixteen mages left alive in the Harrowing Chamber besides the First Enchanter, and Irving would only vouch for twelve of them to be trusted. Miriana could hardly believe the devastation Uldred had caused as she and the others were forced to step over dead bodies to return to the door that would lead them out. The stench of rotten flesh and sulfur emanating from the slain demons and those mages who had been killed and left to decay since the onslaught began was overpowering. If it hadn't been for Faith helping to steady her constitution, Miriana wasn't sure she could have made it back to the rotunda without fainting or, at least, vomiting.

As foul as the rotunda had smelled when they entered the upper room, it was a welcome breath of fresh air after being inside the Harrowing Chamber while they fought the last of the demons, abominations, and rebel mages. By the time they exited, the templar they found trapped when they arrived was gone. Miriana only hoped he wouldn't cause trouble to the three female mages and two children they left downstairs. He had been out of his mind from lyrium withdrawal and being tortured. There was no telling what he was capable of in such a state.

While the First Enchanter told his version of what took place at Kinloch, everyone else remained silent, all lost in their own thoughts as the old man prattled on. Miriana was certain it was an interesting enough tale, but the graveled tone of Irving's voice grated her already frazzled nerves for some odd reason, and she just couldn't bring herself to pay him much heed. Instead, she opted to watch her sister, who was ambling along with a slight limp.

Solona's eyes remained straightforward and completely unfocused as she toyed with an amulet that hung from a long silver chain around her neck. It appeared to be a tiny shield, but it was difficult to determine for sure with the way the young Warden was grasping it and rubbing her thumb across its surface. From what Miriana could see of it, though, it looked to be a templar amulet, but she dismissed the notion. Why in the Maker's name would her sister be wearing one of those?

Then, she remembered the ensnared templar. Solona said he was referring to her when he was lamenting about being in love with a mage. Although it was forbidden in the Circle, it wasn't completely unheard of for mages and templars to become involved with each other. Miriana knew of at least three such couples in Ostwick. She even suspected that First Enchanter Wenda and Knight Commander Quillon were guilty of the odd romantic encounter. If Solona and that templar really were a couple, Miriana surmised her twin must have been miserable with grief over the man's behavior.

Miri sidestepped to her right so that she was in whispering earshot of her sister. "Are you alright?"

Solona's face remained unchanged upon answering her twin's question. "I am."

Miriana pursed her lips in frustration. She knew her sister was lying. The more upset Solona was, the more stoic she became. Their father had always called it "putting on a brave face". It was an art form Solona perfected as a child, and it was exactly the same expression she wore the day their mother disappeared.

"Solona…" Miri began.

"What do you intend to do now?" her twin interrupted.

"What?"

"What do you intend to do now?" the other woman asked more forcefully. "It's a simple question, Miriana. You were transferred to Kinloch from your previous Circle, were you not? Now, with this Circle in shambles, what are your plans for the future?"

It was a query that took Miri a bit by surprise. Since being faced with such chaos in the tower upon her arrival, it was something the young mage hadn't really considered. She was still possessed by a Fade spirit and, so, a possible danger to others, and she was still a mage. She didn't really see where she had a lot of options in the matter.

She shrugged. "I suppose I'll stay here. Maybe help in the clean-up and rebuilding. Unless the Knight Commander decides to transfer the remaining mages until more templars can be brought in. I'm not really sure what the protocol is when something like this happens."

Solona's chin tilted slightly higher in the air. "Just as I thought. That's all I needed to know."

Miriana couldn't imagine what her sister meant by those words, but it was obvious they were intended to be a dismissal. Even though it had been fourteen years since they had been a part of each other's lives, Miri still knew Solona well enough to realize her twin had no intention of speaking to her further at that moment. Part of her hoped she and her sister would be able to bond again, but it was seeming more and more that it was just wishful thinking on Miriana's part.

When they finally reached the main entrance hall, the Knight Commander seemed less than pleased to see all of them alive. He sneered at Solona upon the young Warden's approach, his nostrils flared and lips curled with utter disdain for the woman. He presented First Enchanter Irving with a slightly bored expression and a small tilt of the head.

"Irving. You live."

The old enchanter chuckled. "A fact that I am certain fills you with great joy, Greagoir."

"Of course," the Knight Commander drawled before returning his attention to Solona. "You have completed your end of our bargain, so I suppose I have no choice but to comply with mine. You will have the aid of every gifted who has successfully passed their Harrowing that Irving deems worthy and two dozen templars. When you are ready for them to fight, send a missive to the tower and I will send them along to wherever you need them."

"Thank you, Greagoir," said Solona with a small nod of acknowledgement for his cooperation. "But, I have need of these mages before we battle the darkspawn."

"That wasn't our bargain," the Knight Commander argued.

"But it was," the Warden countered. "You agreed that any mages who could be saved would be committed to aiding the Grey Wardens. I never specified that aid would only come in battle. At this moment, there is a child in Redcliffe who has been possessed by a demon. Under normal circumstances, that sort of thing would not be a concern for my order.

"However, the child in question just happens to be the son of the Arl of Redcliffe. It is my intention to procure Arl Eamon's forces to defend against the Blight, and, as of now, our best bargaining chip is saving the boy. I need these mages to perform a ritual to enter the Fade and drive the demon out."

Greagoir's lids constricted as he contemplated the Warden Commander's words, making it apparent to everyone in the room he was attempting to find a loophole to weasel his way out of Solona's demands. It was obvious he had no intention of helping the Wardens past honoring what his bargain with her dictated. After a few moments, he finally breathed a perturbed sigh.

"Very well," he groused. "But only six, including Irving. And you will take four templars along to guard them." He gestured to Cullen who stood several inches to his left. "And I will commit _this_ one to travel with you until the Blight's ended."

Garrett, who had been silent since they left the Harrowing Chamber, stepped forward with a befuddled expression. "But that bloke's out of his head." He gestured to Alistair with a nod. "He already tried to kill him. I'd wager he's more a danger to the Wardens than the darkspawn."

The Knight Commander's shoulder slowly lifted then fell, his face bearing a smug grin. "Take it or leave it, Warden. However, if you reject _any_ of my templars, I will have to be forced to assume you no longer wish to go through with our bargain."

Solona folded her arms across her chest and shifted her weight onto her left leg, her face completely unreadable. "Fine. He will accompany the Wardens until the Blight is over."

"And you will not be allowed to take any lyrium with you, save what the three templars returning to the tower will carry for their personal use," Greagoir added, his grin widening.

"Very well," the Warden seethed, her even countenance finally at is breaking point. "Is there anything else?"

The Knight Commander crossed his arms. "No. I believe that's it. You may leave whenever you're ready. I expect the mages and my templars to return within a week."

"And if they don't?" she questioned.

"Then the bargain is at an end," he said. "Unless any of my other templars decide to stay with you for the duration. A decision I will leave entirely at their discretion. As far as I'm concerned, you can never have too many templars watching over mages who are allowed to live outside the Circle." He hesitated for a moment. "And you may keep Senior Enchanter Wynne with you. I know her to be loyal to the Circle and she could be a valuable asset."

Miriana thought her sister would be happy about the fact that she was going to be allowed to add a senior enchanter to her list of companions. To her surprise, her twin seemed more agitated than ever.

"Alright, Greagoir," Solona agreed through narrowed lids before turning to the First Enchanter. "Irving, please get your mages ready. We leave in twenty minutes. I will be waiting outside."

The old man smiled. "Of course, Warden."

As the First Enchanter and his chosen mages headed for the inner chambers to gather their belongings, Solona spun on her heel and began walking in the opposite direction toward the outer door. After only a few steps, she halted her progression and turned back to Greagoir with the most determined expression Miriana had ever seen on her sister.

"By the way, Knight Commander," she said. "There _is_ one more thing."

He heaved a resonant sigh. "Haven't the Grey Wardens asked for enough from this Circle?"

"Not quite," she replied. "I am invoking the Right of Conscription." She pointed a finger to Miri. "On that mage. And don't try to argue with me about it. You have no choice. Even Grand Cleric Marcine herself wouldn't refuse the Right." She indicated to Alistair with a wave of her hand. "My fellow Warden here can attest to that. He was conscripted under her protests. Otherwise, I suppose I could send a missive to the Divine, but I don't think she would look very highly upon a Knight Commander who refused to allow the Right to stand during a Blight, especially given what happened at Ostagar."

Miriana stood in stunned silence. She couldn't believe her ears. What in the Maker's name was Solona doing? She didn't want to be a Grey Warden. She didn't mind helping with the possessed boy if she could, but she belonged in the Circle.

"Very well," Greagoir snarled. "Just get her out of my sight."

Solona turned to her twin with just the hint of a satisfied smirk. "Come along, Miriana. Your new life awaits."

* * *

Garrett followed in Solona's wake as she headed through the tower's large double doors into the waiting light of the breaking dawn. She walked several feet ahead until she was out of audible range of the templars standing guard at the entrance before coming to a halt. Her chest and shoulders swelled with a deep inhalation as she raised her hands into the air. With a sudden flick of her wrists, the mage threw her palms out, and a tremendous bolt struck the ground a few yards from where she stood, leaving a smoking black hole in the dirt.

"Maker fucking son of a Maker fucking bitch," she cursed.

The pirate took a few tentative steps toward her, praying to the spirits she wouldn't turn her wrath on him in her current state of fury. When the toe of his boot snapped a twig, he stopped short and she whirled around to face him. He held his hands out in front of his chest to show her he meant her no ill will, but with the expression she bore, he wasn't sure it really mattered.

"Are you alright, love?" he questioned with a slight arc of his right brow.

"Not really," she seethed. "No."

He smirked. "That's quite the bit of colorful language. Even enough to make an old pirate blush. I'm impressed."

Her scowl wilted into an expression of haughty indifference. "Is that some type of inane attempt at humor?"

Garrett shrugged. "I thought it was funny. I take it you didn't?"

The Warden harrumphed. "Hardly. I see nothing humorous about this situation. First, that bastard Greagoir does everything he can to make the task ahead of me as difficult as possible, and that's after dealing with all that bullshit in the tower. I mean, how in the fuck are the mages supposed to perform the ritual without lyrium?

"Then, to top everything off, the ship that brought us here from Redcliffe is gone. Stranded us on this Maker fucking island. Even if we take a ferry back to the docks, it will take at least a week to get around the lake and back to Redcliffe on foot. Which means the mages won't be back to Kinloch in time, and I lose a vital resource for this war."

The captain peered over at his ship, floating between the island where they stood and the docks. He thought of Howe and the vengeance he vowed to bring to the man. He considered the fact that he really didn't want to get involved in the Blight or Grey Warden business. Hadn't he already done enough by helping to clear the mess in the Circle tower?

He was a pirate for the sake of the spirits, not some kind of bloody hero intent on sacrificing himself for the greater good. He could just sail on and forget all about Miri and Solona. He would dump Remus at some out of the way port, find Howe and kill him, and then head for the safety of the northern lands. It would certainly be the more intelligent thing to do.

As he contemplated his future, Garrett's attention was caught by the sight of Miriana approaching from his left. The rays of the early morning sun glinted gold in the windswept tendrils of her dark sable hair, pulled loose from the binding of the long, thick braid that hung across her shoulder. Trepidation reflected in her blue eyes, a worry born of a now uncertain future. How could he possibly add to that by leaving her stranded there? He closed his eyes and inhaled a deep breath.

 _Your promise to the lass ended when you walked through the doors of the tower. You've already done more than your fair share, mate. No need to get yourself involved further. This is the kind of bullshit that'll get your ass killed…or worse, get your fool heart broken again. It's trouble you don't need. Just shove off and sail on._

That was it. He couldn't do it. He wouldn't allow himself to be roped into aiding a lost cause. The Blight would ravage Ferelden and move through Orlais where they were more equipped to deal with a war against the darkspawn. Meanwhile, the captain would travel to Northern Antiva and wait out the storm. Perhaps he would even run into Isabela along the way. A few nights with her would certainly help to remind him of who he was and why he continued to choose a life at sea.

He turned to Miri, fully intending to bid her farewell and wish her the best of luck, but the forlorn expression she wore, silently pleading him not to leave her, was more than he could abide. It was almost as if she had read his thoughts, knew his intentions, and the idea of his departure was unbearable to her in light of the things she would be forced to endure.

 _Why are you hesitating? This will only bring you misery, mate, and you know it. She'll never love you. She's in love with that smarmy bastard, Gerard. Not you. That dream she had. That proved where her heart lies, what type of man she wants. You don't need this in your life. You need your ship, your crew, Isabela when you want a tumble. Not this. Never this._

Garrett swallowed past the knot in his throat as he continued to wrestle with his thoughts. He knew it was folly to stay, but he couldn't will his feet to move. As he stared into Miriana's lapis eyes, filled with sadness and dread, he recalled something Bryce said to him years ago.

 _Sometimes you have to look past yourself, son, and put your own fears aside to do what's right. There are monsters in this world, for sure, but the true villains are the ones who just stand idly by and do nothing while good men suffer._

Garrett had been one of those monsters once, long ago, when he took the lives of others just to make a name for himself. He made an oath that he would never be that man again. If he left now, that vow would be broken. Could he ever live with himself if he walked away?

His lips curved into a smile as he indicated to the _Call_ with the tilt of his head. "Why don't you and Alistair get to the captain's gig, love? We'll wait here for the others."

* * *

Solona could hardly believe her ears when she heard Garrett tell Miriana to go ahead to his captain's gig. Ever since she realized the sloop that transported her and Alistair to Kinloch was gone, she had been trying to discern the best way to ask the captain for his aid. She had assumed by the way he ignored her earlier statement about how she was going to lose the mages for the war that she would be forced to resort to less subtle tactics. She would have promised him any sexual favor he desired, no matter how debasing, if that's what he wished in return for promise of passage. She was even prepared to offer him riches from Alistair's future coffers, if carnal bartering wasn't enough for him. Fortunately, it seemed he was more altruistic than what she gave him credit for.

Now, there was only one hurdle left. Where in the Maker's name was she going to get the lyrium required for the ritual? From what Jowan told her, it was going to take a great deal of it. Without the Circle's resources, she would be forced to find the lyrium they needed on her own. Orzammar would be the best option, but there was no way they could make it there and back to Redcliffe within a week.

"Bastard," she mumbled.

"What was that, love?" Garrett questioned. "Did you just call me a bastard? And here I thought you might appreciate the use of my ship and crew."

Solona rolled her eyes with a perturbed sigh. "I wasn't referring to you. I was just thinking about how Greagoir fucked me over with his denial of lyrium."

"Is that all?" the captain asked with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I've got more than enough Chantry paraphernalia in my hold. A little lighter on the stuff after the goat, but I'm sure there's plenty for your need."

"After the what?"

He shook his head. "Never mind, love. I've got it to spare. I was transporting a few crates to Jader when I got sidetracked by your sister. It's yours if you need it."

Solona lifted a questioning left brow. "Chantry paraphernalia?"

"A pirate term," he explained. "I can't very well go around announcing I'm hauling lyrium by the crate load, can I? The Chantry tends to frown on anyone but them and the damned dwarves having it, but it's too profitable a cargo to just leave it be. There are plenty of apostates and booted templars out there willing to pay through the nose to black market dealers and plenty of black market dealers willing to give me a fair share of the profit for its procurement."

"And you're not worried about getting caught?"

"I have my methods." His lips curled into an uneven grin, and he waggled his eyebrows. "Pirate, remember?"

Solona couldn't help but be amused by his animated gesture. At the same time, she found herself completely enthralled by it. Captain Garrett Hawke was, without a doubt, the sexiest, most intriguing man she had ever encountered. The prospect of spending the next two days with him on his ship excited her in ways she never thought possible.

After glancing to her left and then right to ensure they were alone, she sauntered over to him and ran her index finger slowly down the exposed area of his chest. The smoldering gaze of his aquamarine eyes incited her nethers to tingle with need. It had been months since a man had given her pleasure, and the notion of Garrett being her next lover set her senses alight.

He reached down and lifted her chin with the side of his right index finger. "Careful, love. Teasing a pirate like that could get you in trouble you may not be ready for."

She flashed a wanton grin. "Oh trust me, Captain. I am more than ready for _you_."

* * *

 **Spell Translation:**

 **From the Fade, Call we a barrier of light**  
 **A shield be made, To end our plight**  
 **Magic born of the Void, Our ears and eyes resist**  
 **Its power now destroyed, Its vision will desist**


	34. The Wrong Side of Heaven

Remus watched the banks of the tower's island from the deck of the ship. It had been two days since the brig anchored in that part of the lake, and he was becoming restless in his impatience. The dark spirits inside him bade him to act. To enter the tower and destroy every templar within, but he forced himself to resist the temptation. He was still in control, still Remus. Besides, if he allowed the demons to have their way, Miriana would be dead. He couldn't let that happen. He wouldn't.

He knew Captain Hawke had taken the young mage inside Kinloch with the intention of leaving her there. At first, he planned to stop the pirate from committing such a foolish act, but his instincts told him to wait. There was trouble there. Trouble that would force Miriana to leave that place.

When the captain didn't return within a few hours after their departure, Remus knew he was right to listen to his inner voice. As long as he could still feel Miriana's presence, he knew she was still alive, no matter what kind of atrocities had occurred within Kinloch. If he didn't see her in Captain Hawke's company when he boarded the ship, he would simply go in and get her out himself. He had the means to do so. With the stone buried inside him, embedded into his stomach, there wasn't a templar in Thedas who wielded the power to stop him.

Remus leaned further against the rail. There was movement on the shore near the captain's gig. His heart skipped a beat when he realized it was her. Miriana. He could see her silver aura shining like a beacon. But who was that with her? It looked to be a lighter haired man in armor. But where was the captain? Perhaps the rogue had perished inside. Remus couldn't help but smile at that notion. With the captain gone, he was free to pursue his newfound love without needing to compete with anyone.

She would be the light that would guide him. The one who would save him from the demons. From himself. Together, they would find the answers he had been seeking since he swallowed that infernal stone. He would be whole once more, human, and she would be right there with him. Always.

* * *

The captain's gig was too small to carry everyone who needed to board _Yavana's Call_ all at once, so Garrett sent word with the mages that they would be ferried to the ship with Miriana and Alistair, and the templars would accompany the captain and Solona on the second trip. As they were rowed across the lake, Miriana's mind was still reeling from Solona's invoking the Right of Conscription. What was her sister thinking?

"Are you alright?" Alistair asked from her left.

They were the first words the Warden had spoken to Miri since they escaped the Fade. Although she was angry and confused about both the conscription and Solona and Garrett's shameless flirting with each other, the genuine concern in his hazel-green eyes somehow lightened her mood a bit. She realized his consideration most likely was a result of his feeling sorry for her, but it was comforting, none the less.

"I'm fine," she replied in a soft, quivering voice as she turned away from his gaze.

Despite the fact that she had grown much more comfortable in Garrett's presence on their voyage to Kinloch, Miriana was flustered being in such close proximity to Alistair. Even with Faith's possession emboldening her, he still made her nervous. He was kind enough, or so it seemed, and very handsome, but she still didn't know him well enough to be able to relax around him.

"Are you sure?" he queried. "Because you're looking a bit green." When she produced a questioning grimace, he presented her with a shrug and a boyish grin. "I mean, don't get me wrong or anything. It's a very lovely shade of green. It complements your robes beautifully. I'm just not sure human skin is supposed to be that color."

Despite her low spirits, Miriana couldn't help but giggle at Alistair's jest. She had expected him to attempt to console her with kind platitudes. Instead, he caught her off guard with a bit of lighthearted teasing. It was completely unexpected, and she couldn't have been more grateful for it.

He chuckled. "That's more like it. I was afraid the green might have been permanent. As I said, it was a lovely shade, but imagine if you tried to wear brown with it? Someone might mistake you for a tree. They'd go digging around in your hair looking for cherries or dates. Who needs to deal with that?"

Miriana's shy giggle transformed into a hearty belly laugh as Alistair's chest and shoulders began to shake with amusement at his own joke. After coming to the realization that Garrett didn't share her feelings, the horrors they faced in the tower, and trying to wrap her head around the fact that she had been conscripted into the Grey Wardens, that brief moment of levity was a most welcome distraction.

After a few moments, Alistair swiped his fingertips across his eyes and licked his lips before addressing Miri with a smile. "It's not so bad, you know. Being a Grey Warden. I mean, sure, you have to fight darkspawn occasionally…Okay, a lot, but at least you get to travel. And you're not stuck in some tower where you'll never get to see the sun again."

Miriana's shoulder lifted with a slight shrug. "I suppose," she whispered.

The crew throwing riggings around to attach to the small craft so it could be hauled up to the ship's deck was a welcome relief. Miriana didn't wish to explain her views of the Circle to Alistair at that moment. It was clear by his statement he didn't hold the Circles in high regard, and she wasn't inclined to begin an argument right then. Her nerves were completely raw and required her to spend some time alone, away from everyone, to recuperate. Besides, with the exception of their time in the Fade, it had been days since she slept. She needed to lie down and rest, then maybe a bath and food when she woke.

When the captain's gig was secure enough to disembark, Miriana stepped onto the deck and turned to Alistair to inform him of her intentions, but stopped when she caught Remus staring at her from a few feet away. He frightened her more than anything she had witnessed in the tower, and she didn't want to chance his stopping her to chat. She had to do something to avoid the Tevinter, and thought it was the last thing she wanted at that moment, she forced herself to gaze up at Alistair with a timid smile.

"The Circles aren't all bad, you know," she began. "In fact, the Circle saved my life."

* * *

Alistair listened in silence as Miriana leaned against the rail and related the tale of her life. She and her father moved to Nevarra City after Solona and their two brothers were taken away by the templars, where Ansel Amell became a house servant for the Mortalitasi Prelate, Vestalus Pentaghast. Even at the young age of five, Miri was expected to pull her weight and do odd jobs, such as dusting and sweeping, around the estate.

When she was eight, her master discovered she had magic when she accidently used ice magic to put out an ember that had landed on her dress. Over the next year, he instructed her in Spirit magic, drawing glyphs, and summoning wisps at will. She admitted she enjoyed the training until he took her to the crypts of the Grand Necropolis and spent days forcing her to use the wisps to animate corpses until her mana ran so low she thought she might die.

When she was finally allowed to return to the Pentaghast estate and her father, she locked herself in her room and refused to emerge until Ansel assured her Vestalus had departed. It was then that Miriana decided she wanted nothing more to do with magic. She wanted only to be a servant, but her master was angry with her refusal to further her training. That very afternoon, she was sent to the market with a shopping list and enough coin for her purchases. Shortly after her arrival, she was apprehended by a group of templars who took her to the Circle in Ostwick.

"So, you see," she concluded, keeping her eyes to the tower in the distance. "The Circle protected me."

Alistair never considered the fact that there were mages who actually wanted to be in the Circle. Up until he met Miri, all the ones he ever encountered thought of it as a prison. During his training as a templar, he was told there were others like Miriana, but he assumed it was just more Chantry rhetoric. Even given the story she told him, Alistair still couldn't fathom wanting to be locked away for the rest of his life. The idea of being forced to become what someone else told him he had to be was difficult enough. He couldn't imagine being told he would never again step foot outside on top of that.

"And you've never wondered what it would be like to live outside the Circle again?" he questioned. "I mean, now that you're an adult, you don't have to worry about Vestalus anymore. Being a Grey Warden isn't exactly freedom, but it's a damned sight better than anything the Chantry offers."

"Ostwick wasn't _so_ bad," she told him, still refusing to look him in the eyes. "A bit boring, perhaps. Though, my best friend, Julia, hated it. She was always getting into trouble from playing pranks on the templars." She scowled as she watched the captain's gig getting ready to be pulled from the water. "Solona reminds me a lot of Julia."

"I take it that isn't a good thing," Alistair surmised.

Miriana shrugged. "I don't know. Solona is my sister, that's all that matters, I suppose."

"That doesn't always mean much. I had an older brother…"

"Did you get separated when they took you to the Circle, too?" she interrupted.

Alistair shook his head and stared at Miriana with a bemused expression. For the first time since they boarded the ship, her eyes met his. At first, he assumed she must have been joking, but he could see no hint of mirth within her lapis gaze. What in the Maker's name made her think he was a mage? Maybe she was confused by what he said about the Grey Wardens and the Chantry.

"I'm not a mage," he explained. "I was a templar initiate, but I was conscripted into the Wardens before I took my vows."

The space between her eyebrows disappeared, and she hesitated several moments before speaking again. "You were saying? About your brother?"

Alistair paused before answering, recalling Solona's reaction to his birthright. He was uncertain how much he should tell Miri about his heritage. Would she reject him as well?

The truth of the matter was, he loved Solona, but it was painfully obvious she didn't feel the same and likely never would. Faced with that reality, and given the fact that he was developing a real affection for Miriana, he wasn't sure he wanted to take the chance of repelling Miri the way he had her sister.

On the other hand, eventually, she would find out who he was. If nothing else, Solona would tell her, most likely sooner rather than later. It would probably be best to simply get it over and done with. That way, he knew where he stood from the onset.

"Yes, my brother. We never really got along. Actually, if truth be told, I never knew him. We only met four times. Once in Redcliffe when we were children, the other three in Ostagar within the same day."

Her face wilted into a forlorn expression. "Ostagar? Did he…?"

Alistair nodded. "Yes. He died on the battlefield. We spoke at length in his tent that afternoon. He tried to tell me he was sorry for the way my life turned out and how our father treated me. He said he understood why I was angry, but it just pissed me off. He grew up in a castle. I was raised in a fucking stable. He had no clue what I went through."

"A castle?" Miriana questioned.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, praying to the Maker she would be more understanding than Solona had been. "My brother and I share the same surname. His given name was Cailan." He turned to Miri and offered his hand. "Allow me to officially introduce myself. I'm Alistair Theirin, future King of Ferelden."

* * *

One day southwest of Gherlen's Pass, Anders turned toward the Frostback Mountains and straight into an early spring snowstorm. Although winter was at an end, the weather in the mountains was still perilous, and he was only in the foothills. It was a treacherous passage, especially given his injuries, but it was better than the alternative. Traveling along the Imperial Highway put him at risk of being caught, and he wasn't going to allow that to happen again.

When he was finally able to drag himself out of that grove of trees off the banks of Lake Calenhad, Anders made the decision that he was never going back to Kinloch Hold. With Solona dead, there was absolutely nothing to keep him there anymore outside the templars' and Greagoir's will. He would rather be killed than return, and he was prepared to die fighting if necessary.

Snow crunched heavily under the butt of the staff he was utilizing to support his injured leg. Healing the break had been a slow-going process, but it was finally improving. If only he could find some proper fitting boots, it would help. The ones he swiped at the farmhold he came across outside the small village of Satbury were at least two sizes too small. The clothes he found drying on the line didn't even come close to conforming to his overly tall frame. The trousers were too snug at the inseam and the ends of the legs didn't quite reach the tops of the boots. The wool tunic was itchy, overly tight at the shoulders, and the sleeves were much too short, but the new accoutrements were a damned sight better than mage's robes. Being naked in the snow was preferable to those vile things.

Robes were a glaring symbol of his oppression, a way for the Chantry to mark him as a potential danger to the rest of the world. Never again would he wear them. Never again would he be a prisoner. He would die a free man, whether dying in his bed in some out of the way village or forcing the hand of some overzealous templar, he would not be a mage of the Circle another day of his life.

He pulled the hood of the heavy wool cloak over his head and bowed against the whistling wind and driving snow that assaulted his face. He needed to find shelter before he became completely lost in the impending storm. He only hoped he could wait out the Maker forsaken weather. His stolen food supply had run out that morning, but it wasn't as if he had never gone without sustenance before. The year he spent in that stinking dungeon taught him he wasn't above finding alternate means of nourishment, and with his knowledge of flora and fauna, he knew what was safe to eat within caves and what wasn't. He would endure. Until he found a more permanent home or the templars came to claim his life, Anders would survive.

* * *

"How much further do you think it is?" Carver asked his older sister.

Gabrielle shivered against the cold and pulled her father's old coat tighter around her chest. It had been three days since what was left of the Hawke family and Aveline had ventured out of Southron Hills and into the Brecilian Forest. By Aveline's estimations, they would need to travel through the forest for five days once they were out of the mountains before they reached Gwaren. Gabrielle prayed their companion was correct because the frigid weather was becoming unbearable. Even the tall trees couldn't shelter them completely from the biting wind that blew in the southern lands.

 _At least there's food and water here…and no darkspawn._

That was one of the greatest blessings of trekking through the forest. Although it was the wrong time of year for edible berries in that part of Ferelden, there was plenty of game to be found, and Aveline was a fair cook over an open fire. They had even been fortunate enough to locate large, hollowed-out pines along the way for shelter from the wind. It was certainly the most pleasant part of their trip so far. Still, Gabrielle was looking forward to finding civilization again.

"At least two more days," the apostate replied.

"Great," Carver groused. "More fennec for supper."

"Would you rather go back to eating cave mushrooms?" his sister questioned with annoyance. "I think I might a few left in my pack.

As fed up as Gabrielle was with her brother's complaining, it was better than the alternative. The only thing worse than his bitching was listening to her mother's insults and her plans for Gabrielle's future once they reached Kirkwall. For most of the journey, Aveline remained at the front of the procession while Gabrielle took position at the rear. Unfortunately, that meant she was forced to walk directly behind Leandra much of the way.

Leandra spent hours carrying on about how Gabrielle needed to start wearing dresses and makeup. "And for the Maker's sake, we have to do something with that rat's nest you call hair. Bethany always took care of herself. Why can't you take pride in your appearance the way your sister always did?"

Then, there was Gabrielle's favorite. "When we get to Kirkwall, I'll fetch Pierre. I'm sure his shop is still in business. When he's finished with you, you'll hardly recognize yourself. I mean, don't get me wrong dear, you'll still have a demon of a time finding a husband with your lack of curves and masculine features, but I'm sure we can find someone who would be willing to marry you even with all your flaws. There are always nobles who care more about bloodlines than appearance."

Carver's company was actually a welcome change after the last three days of dealing with her mother, although she could still hear Leandra telling Aveline how much easier it would have been for Bethany to find a suitable husband than it would be for Gabrielle. The apostate heaved a sigh and turned her attention back to her surroundings.

It had been nearly a week since any of them had seen Flemeth. The last time they were attacked by darkspawn, as a matter of fact. It seemed that was the only time the witch ever appeared. She had no desire to spend time with her traveling companions. Occasionally, a shadow would darken the sky overhead for a few moments. Gabrielle just assumed that it was the old woman following along in dragon form, but she never got a good enough look to be sure.

Carver stopped short and turned around with a worrisome frown. "Hey, Gabby?"

She scowled. She was in a foul mood and certainly didn't want to talk to her brother right then. "What do you want, Carver?"

"How are we supposed to get to Kirkwall? Do we even have enough coin to secure passage for all four of us?"

As irritating as her brother often was, his concern was a valid one. Gabrielle had managed to scrape together a sovereign's worth of silver and copper she had tucked away in her wardrobe when they escaped, but she knew damn well it wouldn't be sufficient to get even one of them to Kirkwall, let alone all of them. They were flat broke with nothing of value. Nothing save her father's staff.

It was one of a kind, fashioned from volcanic aurum magically folded over ash so it wouldn't be too heavy to carry or wield. The detail of the stave was magnificent, with the nude form of Andraste offering her body to the Maker with outstretched arms at the top. Surrounding her, the symbol of the Circle, upside down and open, representing freedom from the oppression of the Chantry imposed mages' prisons. Along the body of the staff, perfect diamond shapes were etched into the metal. The stave wasn't a weapon as much as it was a labor of love. A project Malcolm Hawke had worked on ever since Gabrielle could remember.

Her mother would be furious that she was even considering selling it, but she knew there was no choice in the matter. It was priceless to the family, the only thing they had left to remember Malcolm by, save the old clothes and boots Gabrielle wore. Unfortunately, it was also all they had to ensure they were able to get out of Ferelden before the Blight spread any further.

"Don't worry about it, Carver," Gabrielle told him, the expression she bore warning him to drop the subject. "I'll take care of it."

* * *

A genlock was sent hurtling into the trees by the toe of Sithig's sizeable boot just before the Avvar sliced the attacking hurlock to his left in half at its waist. Using a greatsword to kill the night-gangers was still an unwieldly task for Sithig. His battleaxe had been lost on the field at Ostagar, and the two-handed blade was all the Chasind healer, Olga, had at her disposal when the Avvar departed her hut. Getting accustomed to the balance of the thing was the most difficult part of battle, but he was appreciative of the fact that he was better equipped to kill the tainted creatures when they managed to get too close.

He considered taking the axe of one of the first hurlocks he fought, but he couldn't bring himself to do it upon remembering the words his father spoke long ago following his first battle when he attempted to retrieve an axe from a dead foe. As he bent to pick it up, his da had put a hand to his shoulder and shook his head.

 _"Son, stealing the weapon of an enemy at the end of battle is like stealing his soul. An axe or a hammer becomes part of a warrior the first time it tastes enemy blood, just as much as his hand or arm. It is the privilege of the Lady of the Skies to take that man's limbs, not yours. If you steal that axe, Hakkon will turn his back to you. You will be forever cursed and your honor will be lost, never to be recovered."_

As much as he disliked the greatsword and as difficult as it was to use, Sithig was forever bound to the blade. Olga told him it was a gift from a former lover, a smith. It was a show piece, something to grace her wall, and never meant to be used in battle because, at six feet long and just over twelve pounds, it was too large and cumbersome for any normal man to wield.

It wasn't as if the Avvar disliked the look of the sword. It was actually quite unique and beautiful in its blade's curvature and sharp points. The metal itself was a muted silver with grey and black streaks curling over its length like tendrils of smoke, giving the impression of stone more than steel. What stood out the most, however, were the fine lines of glowing aquamarine etched along its surface in a pattern likely only understood by the man who crafted it. Olga's lover told her the sword was fashioned from metal he discovered in a smoking crater after watching a star fall from the heavens, and named the blade Starfang in honor of that finding.

When the last night-ganger fell dead at his feet, Sithig sheathed Starfang into the scabbard on his back and returned to the road. The journey toward Redcliffe had been an arduous one. Most of the Avvar's traveling from the northern marshlands had taken him through the hills and forests of the Hinterlands until he finally reached the southern portion of the Imperial Highway that ran along Lake Calenhad.

By his estimation, he was only a day or two from Redcliffe Village, which made him wonder if he had made a mistake listening to the words of a witch that came to him in a dream. It seemed the right thing to do when he left Olga's hut. The old healer even encouraged him to heed his vision, but he had yet to see a sign of anything that might guide his way toward fate's intended destination.

He stood there, in the middle of the highway, pondering his next move. The Blight was still raging all around him, evidenced by the dozens of night-gangers he had been forced to fight along the way. From what he had witnessed in the aftermath of Ostagar, he was the only Grey Warden left in all of Ferelden. His new clan was gone, just as his old one. How was he expected to fight the night-gangers alone? Duncan had told him the Blight could only be stopped if a Warden took the head of the archdemon, but where should he begin to ensure that task was completed?

Sithig was no hero. In fact, he was quite the opposite. It was his foolishness, his desire to avoid more bloodshed that had wiped out the entire Stormhold clan, save a dozen warriors, and got his wife and son killed. His actions had angered Hakkon, evidenced by the Lady of the Skies' refusal to allow his entry into the winds.

He tried to regain his honor at Ostagar, but the failures of his past ensured the Lord of War's absence on the battlefield. It was his curse, his past errors in judgement that caused the massacre at Ostagar. Perhaps if he hadn't been there, Hakkon would have found favor with the noble King Cailan and his soldiers.

During their travels together, Alistair had once joked that he felt much safer fighting alongside Sithig because with the Avvar watching his back, it was like having a moveable mountain for protection. Sithig only wished that were true. If it were, perhaps he would have been able to at least save Duncan and the king.

As the Avvar began to trudge further down the road, his thoughts turned to Alistair and Solona. The two couldn't have been more opposite, but the love they shared was obvious to those around them. It was a sentiment that had vexed Duncan, but it was one Sithig understood well. For the Avvarian people, love that grew in battle and adversity created the strongest bond. One that would endure the ties of marriage and last a lifetime. He only wondered if either of them spoke their feelings before death took their young lives.

Sithig glanced to his right, and something within a small grove of trees near the lake caught his eye. Through a gap in the brush, in a clearing, a fallen log was sitting on the far side of a firepit. With the amount of refugees fleeing the night-gangers, the Avvar wouldn't have given it a second thought on a typical day, but his instincts bade him to take a closer look.

The pit had been filled with dirt to douse a fire. By the way the earth was caked, it appeared that it had been several days since any embers had burned within. The dead grass covering the ground seemed to barely have been disturbed at all, which indicated that the camper or campers didn't linger there more than an evening, typical behavior for evacuees. In fact, there was nothing remarkable about the campsite at all, leaving the Avvar feeling foolish over stopping in the first place.

Before he turned to head back to the road, Sithig decided to scan the area one last time. A few yards away, near a slightly flattened patch of grass, he spotted something he had missed on his first perusal. He squinted, attempting to discern the nature of the object as he ambled toward it. It wasn't until he was almost standing on top of the thing that he realized what it was. His breath hitched in his throat. Lying in the grass next to his foot was a small lump of clay that was fashioned into what was supposed to be a bird, but hardly resembled one at all. Sithig had seen the figurine once before, when it dropped out of Solona's pack one morning when they were gathering their things to leave a cave in the cliffs outside Ostagar.

That figurine being in that abandoned campsite could only mean one thing. Solona was alive, which meant Alistair most likely survived the battle, as well. He wondered which direction they traveled, and prayed to Korth they hadn't gotten too far ahead of him. Then he remembered the witch's words.

 _Travel toward the village of Redcliffe. Along that road, you will find the path you seek._

Redcliffe. The witch mentioned it specifically. That had to be where they were going. The Avvar's heart felt lighter than it had in weeks. He retrieved the object from the ground and gingerly placed it into the largest pouch at his belt, taking great care not to break it. It would be whole when he returned it to its owner, he would make damn sure of that.


	35. Angel Of The Morning

After the _Call_ set sail, as a matter of courtesy, Garrett allowed Solona to be the first to make use of the tub in his cabin, which earned the pirate another promise of a more personal reward from the young mage later. As many times as he rebuffed the advances of any female other than Isabela over the years following his breakup with Maggie, the captain found he was actually looking forward to spending time alone with Solona. She was beautiful, intriguing, and, best of all, willing to have a tumble with absolutely no strings attached. That evening certainly promised to be an interesting one.

While Garrett waited for Solona to finish her bath, he made the rounds, ensuring he spoke to each of his new passengers for at least a few minutes. At the end of every conversation, he made sure to extend an invitation to dine with him in the galley for that evening's meal. It was an invitation all but two mages and one templar accepted, which meant Garrett would be the one to prepare the meal himself. Those people had been through enough already. There was no reason to torture them further with Ramirez's cooking.

The exchanges were pleasant enough, filled with the usual friendly banter and painted on smiles typical of chats between strangers. Mistrust abounded on the part of both the mages and the templars, but no more than what Garrett expected, and all involved were polite enough to keep their misgivings to themselves. When the captain greeted Cullen, however, he made the decision to use more caution in his approach.

"How are you holding up, mate?" he asked, folding his arms across the lower half of his chest.

He carefully slipped his right hand into his duster so that he had better access to his left cutlass if he needed it, not that the templar would have noticed. The man's eyes darted back and forth so quickly, Garrett wondered if he was actually able to see anything at all as he paced a small path across the planks of the deck. His hands wrung furiously, and, even given the frigid early spring breeze, rivulets of perspiration poured down the man's forehead and cheeks. His blond curls were soaked with it, making it appear as if he had just been in the bath.

He stopped midstride and looked up at the pirate, his brown eyes filled with fear and his chest heaving like he couldn't quite catch his breath. Although he had never seen it firsthand until the tower, Garrett recalled what Alistair had said about lyrium withdrawal. He also remembered the fact that bastard Greagoir didn't allow Cullen to bring any with him. The man was suffering and desperate and quickly becoming a danger to everyone aboard.

Garrett knew he had to do something, but what? He supposed he could have one of the mages mix up a potion from the powder housed below decks. Somehow, though, the pirate was fairly certain potions wouldn't correct the problem. Cullen needed something stronger, something that would enter his bloodstream faster. Then he remembered the souvenir Martinez had taken from one of the last templars that had been booted from the _Call_.

The pirate snapped his fingers to gain the attention of one of the nearby crewman. He was a short, scrawny little man with a head full of frizzy red hair and watery brown eyes. Because he was a fairly new member of the _Call's_ crew, picked up in Cumberland three or four months prior, the captain was forced to think a bit to remember the man's name as he scurried over and presented Garrett with a curt nod.

"Somethin' I can do for ya, Captain?"

"Aye, Orlov," Garrett replied, finally recalling his crewman's moniker. "Go fetch Mister Martinez. Tell him I need that booty he crimped from that templar a few weeks back, toot suite."

"Aye Captain," Roberts answered with another sharp bow of his head before running to locate the first mate.

As he waited for Martinez, Garrett kept an eye on Cullen who had begun his pacing anew. The templar reminded the pirate of a tiger he saw trapped in a cage in Llomerryn once. He had the same anxious look about him, like he was ready to pounce in attack the moment he discovered an opportunity. His behavior was growing more troublesome, but Garrett was prepared to put the man down quickly if the situation called for it. No one on his crew was worth the life of some lyrium starved templar he didn't even know.

Several minutes later, Martinez showed up carrying a small, rectangular wooden box. When he handed it over to Garrett, the First Mate was wearing a sly smile. It was a grin the captain knew well. One that told him Martinez was about to close a deal with a woman.

"Sorry about that, Captain," the tall man apologized, though Garrett knew his friend was far from repentant. "I was in the middle of some very important and delicate negotiations when Orlov showed up."

"Blonde, brunette, or redhead?" Garrett asked.

The other man gave a wink. "Blonde," he replied before leaning in closer. "And I'm hoping a brunette for later…unless I can talk them into joining me at the same time."

The Captain chuckled and shook his head. Martinez's behavior didn't come as a surprise. Quite the contrary. With that many women aboard, Garrett would have thought something was wrong with the man if he hadn't tried to get up the skirts of one or all of them by then. His first mate was nothing if not consistent in his debauchery.

After he wished Martinez luck in his endeavors and dismissed him, Garrett returned his attention to Cullen and presented the box to him. "Here you are, mate. I'm guessing you know what to do with this ruddy thing."

The templar licked his lips hungrily as he stared at the pirate's offering for a long moment. He removed his gauntlets and threw them at his feet before hesitantly reaching for the box, his hands trembling as if they had been exposed to the cold for far too long. When his fingers were less than an inch from the lyrium kit, he snatched it with such ferocity it prompted Garrett to instinctively jerk his hand away.

Cullen yanked the lid open to check the contents. When he was seemingly satisfied with his findings, he knelt down on the deck and emptied a small amount of the glowing blue powder from the tiny vial inside into a small wooden spoon. When that was finished, he uncorked what appeared to be a miniature waterskin and carefully added the liquid from it to the powder. He mixed the ingredients together with the tip of a curved blade, then peered up at Garrett with desperate brown eyes.

"Would you mind helping me? I forgot to get the plunger ready first."

The pirate shrugged. "Sure, mate. What do you need me to do?"

"Grab that tube with the handle on top," he said in a quivering voice. "And that needle."

Garrett picked up the tube and what he assumed was the needle Cullen had mentioned, but it was different than any needle he had ever seen. On one side, there was a piece of muted steel with a small hole in the flattened, top middle. That metal covered the top of a sharp, thin piece of gold just a bit thicker than a needle used for sewing.

"This?" the pirate asked, holding the piece of gold out for the templar's inspection.

Cullen nodded. "Yes. Now put the thicker end inside the tube and turn the handle on top four times to the right."

When Garrett had completed that task, the templar closed the box, carefully placed the filled wooden spoon atop it, and rolled back the left sleeve of his shirt. He then retrieved a long strip of cloth from a pouch at his belt and wrapped it tightly around his forearm and tied it before reaching out his hand to the captain.

After mumbling a quiet "thanks" when Garrett handed the tube over to him, Cullen placed the tip of the needle in the liquid contents of the spoon and slowly flipped the handle over from one side to the other. As the arm moved, the liquid began to disappear. When all but a miniscule amount remained, the templar moved the needle to the now bulging vein of his inner forearm, slid it under his skin, and slowly pushed the plunger back to its original place.

Within seconds, the panic and fear that had marred Cullen's face since the moment Garrett first laid eyes on him altered to an expression of relief and satisfaction. His labored breathing eased, and his overly tense muscles relaxed. The templar peered up at the pirate with eyes glazed over from the effects of the drugs pumping through his blood.

"Thank you," he grinned while stowing the contents of the lyrium kit back into their box. "I'm not sure how much longer I could have gone on like that."

"So you're feeling better now, are you, mate?"

"I actually feel human again," Cullen replied as he rose to his feet. "For the first time in Maker knows how long."

Garrett clapped him on the shoulder. "Glad to hear it, mate. I really wasn't looking forward to running you through."

"A fact that comes as quite a relief to me as well, Captain," the other man said.

Although the templar seemed to be in better spirits and a much more stable state of mind, he still teetered on his feet a bit. Garrett couldn't help but wonder just how long it had been since the man had eaten or drank anything. After going through such an ordeal, the last thing Cullen needed right then was to faint from hunger or dehydration.

"You're looking like you've been keelhauled, mate," the pirate observed. "Maybe you should find some grub and take a caulk." When the templar countered the advice with a confused expression, the captain folded his arms over his chest and rendered a small chuckle. "Sorry about that, mate. Used to speaking to my crew. Get some food in your belly and then get some rest. You look like you could use both."

Garrett called another of his crew over. "Take this man to the galley and tell Ramirez to make him a couple of sandwiches. Even he can't screw that up. It's the first meal he's had in a while and he needs to keep it down."

"Aye, Captain. I'll see it done," the man answered before addressing Cullen. "Follow me, I'll make sure old Ramirez doesn't kill ya."

Garrett watched the two men until they disappeared behind the door that led down to the galley. When he turned around, he found Alistair standing next to him. The young warrior breathed a tired sigh.

"Shame, really," he said. "What the Chantry does to its templars. At first, they just give them regular potions, pretty much the same ones the mages take. Then, after a while, they do their best to convince new templars that injection is better, not that all of them agree to it, mind you. Some go their entire careers happily taking potions, but the Chantry makes it clear it prefers its templars to use the more direct route. They say it makes templars stronger and makes their powers more effective. Best of all, they won't need to dose themselves as often. Unfortunately, the Chantry neglects to mention it will make the addiction worse and the withdrawals even more unbearable. Not that there's any love lost between Cullen and I, you understand. Personally, I can't stand the bastard, but I can't help but feel sorry for him with that kind of lyrium addiction."

"Bad blood between the two of you, then, mate?" the captain inquired.

So far, Garrett was unsure what to make of Alistair. He wore a mixture of heavy plate and leather and wielded a longsword and shield, which conveyed him as a warrior. At the same time, he had used magic to dissipate that shield in the tower. Then again, Solona was most certainly a mage, and she used a sword. Perhaps it was common for mages to utilize blades in Ferelden. Maybe Cullen was nothing more to Alistair than a templar who had once hounded him in the confines of the Circle. Somehow, though, he was near certain there was more to the story than that.

Alistair heaved another sigh. "Cullen and I trained together as templars in the monastery in Bournshire."

"So, _you're_ a templar?" the pirate interrupted.

"No. I trained as a templar. I was conscripted into the Wardens before I took my vows."

Even after being in the tower for more than two days, Garrett had yet to see Alistair consume any lyrium. Then again, the captain had no idea how long a dose of lyrium would last. It wasn't as if he had ever held a real conversation with one of the Chantry knights before that day.

"I suppose that means I'll have to keep you stocked with lyrium too?" he questioned.

Alistair shook his head. "No. I've never taken the stuff personally. You only get your first draught after you take your vows. I'm just glad the Wardens got to me before I had to."

There was definitely a story there. A templar in training who obviously had no interest in being a templar. Garrett's left brow arched as he scowled at the younger man with confusion.

"If you ask me, mate, it doesn't seem you were too keen on being a templar. Why didn't you just quit? Or is becoming a templar an irreversible decision?"

"Not for most people," Alistair replied with a grimace. "But I was fortunate enough to be a special case. Lucky me. The Grand Cleric decided that, since the monastery had paid for a few years of my upbringing, I owed the Chantry for the expense. It's pretty common for orphans, actually. When you reach a certain age, they give you a choice. You can either become a brother in the Chantry or a templar. I had no interest in being a priest, so I chose the latter."

"Sounds like a bloody load of horseshit to me, mate. If I were you, I'd have told the Grand Cleric to bugger off. But, then again, I've never exactly been fond of rules. One of the joys of being a pirate."

"It wasn't that simple for me, I'm afraid," the Warden countered.

"Of course it was," Garrett argued. "What were they going to do? Hunt you down and drag you back? I doubt they'd care that much about one lowly initiate once you were gone."

Alistair wet his lips. "That might be true of most, but believe me, if certain people found out I left the templars to just gad about on my own, they would have found a way to get me back there. Fortunately, not even those people can argue my conscription."

The pirate folded his arms across his chest and appraised Alistair through narrowed lids. He saw no hint of falsehood in the young warrior's eyes. What had he done that was so bad in his youth to warrant such a perceived reaction from anyone? He said the monastery paid for a few years of his upbringing. Had he gotten into some kind of trouble where his parents or a foundling home decided he was better off with the Chantry? Whatever the reason, Garrett's curiosity had certainly been piqued.

"Get in some trouble in your youth, then?" the captain pressed. "Trust me, mate. You can't have done a bloody thing that I haven't done myself at least once."

Alistair's shoulders drooped. "I suppose you're going to find out sooner or later. It's not about anything I did as much as it is about who I am."

"You some noble prat's son there, mate?" Garrett quipped with a smirk. "Did your daddy ship you off to teach you a lesson in manners?"

The Warden's face hardened into a deep and angry frown. "No. I'm not some noble prat's son. I'm some royal prat's son. Maric Theirin's illegitimate child, born of a scandalous affair between the king and a servant."

Garrett's brows arched in surprise. He certainly wasn't expecting that reply. Once again, he gauged the truth of the other man's words, and found not even the hint of deception hidden within those hazel green eyes. In fact, he appeared as if he were going to be ill, leaving the captain to wonder if he had the same look about himself.

Getting mixed up with the Grey Wardens and the Blight was bad enough, but that little tidbit of news made him seriously consider retracting his offer of aid. He was already going to have trouble with his buyers on the black market over the lyrium that would be missing from the promised shipment, which wasn't going to make his crew happy. Then, there was the fact that every day he delayed potentially put Howe further from his reach. Not to mention, he was still wrestling with his emotions over Miriana and the fact that she was no longer bound to the Circle, which put him at greater risk for getting his heart ripped to shreds. Now, he had to deal with transporting and protecting the bloody future king of Ferelden.

Garrett released a protracted breath as Bryce's words haunted him once again. He was involved now, and there was no turning back. It was at that moment that he realized, he was in it for the long haul. His part in the Blight wouldn't culminate upon the delivery of a few passengers at Redcliffe. Some unseen hand was driving him to stay until the end.

Alistair looked absolutely miserable in his anxiety as he awaited Garrett's response. The captain barely knew the man, but felt the need to put him at ease, or at least catch him off guard. Maybe putting some fight back into him would be the best thing for the young warrior.

The pirate's mouth curved into an uneven grin. "So, you're not only a bastard. You're a royal bastard to boot."

The captain expected his jest to raise Alistair's ire, but the young warrior just shrugged. "I guess I am at that. Maybe that's how I should introduce myself from here on out. It would certainly make for an interesting way to break the ice. Perhaps I should add that as an official title." He straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin with a feigned, regal air. "Alistair Theirin, Royal Bastard of King Maric Theirin and all around git, at your service, my good man. Now do be a good fellow and fetch me a mug of your finest ale. I'm feeling rather peckish at the moment."

At first, Garrett was taken aback by the other man's reaction. He imagined even the most minor noble would have tried to get in a punch at such an insult, but not Alistair. He not only took it in stride but found humor in the pirate's impudence, and he was actually quite amusing. Other than the Couslands, Alistair was the first person of any importance Garrett had met who was good natured enough to laugh at himself, leading the pirate to believe there was a chance he would grow to like the prince.

The captain extended a brow. "You may be the future king and all, mate, but as far as I know, I haven't given up my ship for a job as a serving wench. You can fetch your own bloody ale."

"Are you sure it wouldn't be a better fit for you, Captain?" Alistair retorted with a grin. "I think you might look good in a dress. You certainly have the legs for it. Though the chest hair might cost you some tips."

Garrett chuckled. "Don't flatter yourself, mate. I'm not shaving my chest for anyone. Not even for a lad as handsome as yourself. I can appreciate that you're not a bad sort to look at, but I prefer the lasses, if you know what I mean?"

"Trust me," the prince countered. "I'm definitely with you on that."

* * *

 _Azure skies and billowing clouds quickly turned to inky blackness as an icy wind began to blow around Miriana's ankles then travel upward toward her face. She shivered against the cold, but when she tried to wrap her arms around her chest for some semblance of warmth, she found she couldn't move. It was Remus again, invading her dreams just as he had before. After two days in the tower, all she really desired was uninterrupted sleep, a chance to slumber and explore the Fade without fear or worry. It seemed Remus had other plans, however_

 _"Who was that man, Miriana?" the Tevinter mage questioned._

 _Miri didn't want to respond. In fact, she wanted nothing to do with Remus at all. Why couldn't he just leave her be? She drew a deep breath, knowing it would be the only movement she was allowed unless he wished it to be otherwise. As much as she loathed the notion of doing his bidding, she was aware she really had no choice. He wouldn't allow her to wake until she sated his curiosity._

 _She would answer his questions, but she certainly wasn't going to tell him everything. In their excursion through the tower and their brief conversations, Miriana found she was really beginning to like Alistair. Revealing his true identity to Remus could only put the future king in danger. He would have enough of that just fighting the Blight, and Miri refused to add to his peril._

 _"His name is Alistair," she replied. "He's a Grey Warden. One of only three left in Ferelden, it seems."_

 _The Tevinter appeared before Miriana, his form bathed in an ominous red glow. "I heard rumors that all the Wardens were slain at Ostagar. Three survived?"_

 _Miriana hesitated, unsure how well Remus would tolerate the news of her conscription. The idea of becoming a Grey Warden terrified her. How would the Tevinter react to that notion? Would it even matter to him? Perhaps it was the one thing that would finally persuade him to leave her alone. She had to remain cautious in her responses._

 _"Two survived," she told him. "Alistair and my twin sister, Solona. The other was conscripted in the Circle tower."_

 _"Who? One of the other mages? A templar?"_

 _"No," Miri whispered. "Me."_

 _Remus gripped his left wrist with his right hand at the small of his back and began to pace. His face twisted into angry concern, and his chest rose and fell with every ragged breath as his feet shuffled across the unseen floor. He didn't look in Miriana's direction, but remained deep in thought, struggling with her revelation._

 _After several moments, he halted and turned to her with a grimace. "This will not stand. I will not allow it. The darkspawn taint will change your entire nature. It will corrupt you. You're the only one who…"_

 _"Who what, Remus?" she asked, her voice soft, yet pleading. "What is it that you expect of me?"_

 _When his head drooped, a tear spilled onto his cheek. "To help me, Miriana," he whispered. "I can't do this on my own. The stone. The demons. I fight against them every day, but I don't know how much longer I can hold onto who I am." He searched her eyes, his own glistening eerily in the red light that surrounded him. "There's a light inside you, unlike any I've ever seen. Don't you understand? If you become a Warden, that light will be extinguished. If that happens, all hope is lost. I have no idea what I'll be capable of…what they will be capable of then. Please. I'm begging you. Please help me."_

 _He took a step back and placed his hands on either side of his stomach. Within seconds, a smooth black stone covered with tiny crimson etchings and the size of a thumb glowed from the confines of his robe. Miriana had no idea what it was or how he expected her to aid him, but she could feel the sheer malevolence emanating from the object and recognized the form of several different demons crawling around and through Remus's body. He was most definitely possessed. But how was he containing so many?_

 _Miri's entire body trembled with fright she hoped the creatures could not detect when she realized the full weight of the danger Remus's obsession with her posed. She knew of absolutely nothing she could do for him, but she feared if she told him that, he would end her. There was nothing else for it. She would agree to his request and pray to the Maker a solution would eventually reveal itself._

 _She nodded her head. "Alright," she agreed in a breathless voice. "I'll help you if I can."_

* * *

For the first time in months, Solona finally felt human again. There was only one other thing that could relax her more than a nice, long soak in an actual tub, and she was hoping to get that before the day was out. She wrapped the thick towel Garrett left for her around her body then bent to retrieve her uniform from the floor. The thing was absolutely filthy and reeked of old blood and sulfur. She wrinkled her nose and immediately tossed the leather armor in the corner next to the door, making a mental note to ask the captain about having it laundered before she wore it again.

She searched through the large maple wardrobe until she located a black silk robe, smiling as she let the towel drop to the floor and slipped the garment over her shoulders. As she ran her fingers across the luxurious fabric, she wondered how Garrett would react to seeing her dressed in the robe and nothing else. Given the way the pirate had stared at her earlier, she was almost certain the new raiment would garner the response she desired.

The Warden mage wondered if she should leave the cabin to inform him she was finished with her bath, but thought better of it when she touched the handle of the door. Sooner or later, he would need to return to his cabin. When he did, she intended for her presence to be a pleasant and, hopefully, welcome surprise.

She strolled over to the bed and lay down, positioning herself in such a way that would give the best view of her nearly bare breasts and long legs from the doorway. After years of experience in the Circle, one thing Solona knew well was how most effectively to seduce a man.

 _Well, except for Alistair, of course. Stupid prat._

No matter how badly she wanted to bed Garrett or how much she needed the distraction a few hours of carnal pleasure with him would bring, Solona was still upset over her fellow Warden's rejection. As much as she was loathe to admit it, especially given the way he had rebuffed her past advances, she was still completely and desperately in love with Alistair. Unfortunately, just as it had been with Anders, she would simply have to move on. The only problem was, she wasn't sure how to do that when circumstances forced her to face him every day.

 _Stupid Maker fucking prat._

It wasn't as if she hadn't tried to get over her feelings for him. The evening before they arrived in Redcliffe, when he informed her he was the future king of Ferelden, Solona had been resolved to shun him. She made the decision that she would force herself to stop loving him, to ignore him, but she couldn't. During the entire trip to the village, she was absolutely miserable. She just couldn't stomach the thought of never speaking to him again outside conversations involving Grey Warden business.

After they spoke upon leaving Teagan in the Chantry that first time, she made up her mind that they would be friends and nothing more, but that all went to dust with his apology. Once again, hope entered her heart. Hope that perhaps there could be, there was, something more between them, but she wouldn't push the subject. She refused to make the same mistakes she had with Anders and go chasing after affections Alistair might never give.

The handle of the cabin's door turned, prompting Solona to adjust her body to the perfect position. When Garrett entered the room to find her lying on his bed wearing nothing but his robe, his lips immediately curved into a lascivious smirk. He closed the door firmly behind him and stared at her with an approving expression.

"Well, hello there, love," he greeted before inhaling a deep breath and sauntering toward the bed. "I see you're making yourself comfortable."

"I hope you don't mind the use of your robe, Captain," she said as she ran the tip of her right index finger seductively down the center of her chest. "But my armor is in a most disastrous state."

He licked his lips, a gesture which forced Solona to need to drive thoughts of Alistair out of her head. "No trouble at all, love. Truth be told, it looks better on you, anyway."

He removed his leather duster and hung it over the chair standing next to the large desk that was pushed against the wall, then removed his vest and black silk shirt. A quiet gasp escaped Solona's lips. His body was even more magnificent than she had imagined. She felt her cheeks flush and her skin grow hot as she drank in the bold curves of sinewy muscles gracing his tall frame. Years of dual wielding the cutlasses he kept at his hips and working the riggings of his ship had obviously help shape his masculine form.

The mage presented him with a wanton smile of her own. "Thank you, Captain. I was hoping you would feel that way."

"None of that, lass," he told her. "If you're to be sharing my bed, I think we should probably be on a first name basis, don't you?"

"Absolutely…Garrett."

The pirate leaned over and entangled his fingers in Solona's sable hair before lowering his mouth to hers in a long, slow kiss. His lips tasted of spiced rum and salt as they moved with expert timing and ease. When the tip of his tongue gently glided across hers, she experienced an immediate flood in her nethers, inciting her to dig her nails into the curve of his muscular shoulders.

He pulled his lips away and grinned then pressed his forehead against hers. "Just give me a few minutes to wash up, love. I promise it won't take too long."

Solona considered just grabbing his hips and forcing him to stay, but she understood his need to attend to his hygiene. It wasn't as if he smelled bad. In fact, the aroma of his natural musk blended with the light scent of his cologne and the hint of rum was intoxicating, but the last thing she wanted was for him to be uncomfortable. She intended their tryst to last a while, and she realized that wouldn't happen if he felt self-conscious.

The mage watched the pirate use a cloth dipped in a basin of soapy water to clean himself then splash on a bit of cologne. When he removed his leather trousers, she was greeted by the sight of the finest ass she had ever seen on a man. He turned and she nearly gasped from the sight of his erect manhood, larger than average in both length and girth.

Solona could barely contain her excitement as he crawled across the bed toward her like a lion on the prowl. When he kissed her for the second time, she felt the head of his cock pressing against the junction of her thighs. Breathing a contented sigh into his mouth, she wrapped her legs around his hips and bucked hers forward to force his member inside.

She inhaled a sharp breath at the sensation of Garrett's thick shaft as it pushed further in. When he was buried to the hilt, his cock pulsed rhythmically while he trailed soft kisses across her cheek and down her neck until he reached her shoulder. He suckled her flesh as his hips began to move in perfect tempo. Solona pawed at his back with desperation, scraping her nails across his skin without regard to any injury it may have caused him. He didn't seem to mind, however, and pulled her tighter against his body as he began to pound her in a slow, steady pace.

Although she had been with a number of men throughout her young life, Solona had only known one other lover as skilled as the captain. When she offered herself to Garrett, she was sure the experience would be pleasurable, but she never imagined he possessed that level of talent. It was all she could do to keep her orgasm at bay. In her experience, most men finished fairly quickly once she found her release, and she wanted it to last as long as possible.

Garrett's mouth moved to her ear, his hot breath rapidly increasing as he scraped his teeth across her lobe, which caused Solona to lose hold of her control. When she felt the waves of her climax begin to draw near, she grabbed the back of the pirate's head and dug her nails into his scalp before grasping handfuls of ebony hair. With her release quickly approaching, she crossed her ankles at the small of his back as she began to come.

"Maker fuck," she cried as waves of pleasure washed over her.

Within only moments, a husky, guttural growl reverberated from the captain's chest before he slammed his cock into her one final time. His body shuddered with his release as he ground his hips against her ass and kissed her passionately. Although their coupling lasted longer than she expected, it wasn't as prolonged as she had hoped. Still, it was the best sex she had experienced in ages.

Solona expected a final kiss from Garrett before he rolled off her and onto his back. Instead, his hips began moving again, back and forth and much gentler than before, his erection just as firm as when they started. Once again, she was reminded of Anders, who was the only other man she had ever met capable of such a feat. With a slight shake of her head, she dismissed the memory of her former lover to give her full attention to the man holding her in his arms.

After several minutes, he placed his hands against the mattress on either side of her and pushed himself up to distribute the weight of his chest and shoulders on them. His dark hair clung to his cheeks, dampened from perspiration, as small beads of sweat trickled down the sides of his face. As he continued to rock against her with a steady, but gentle, rhythm, his crystalline, aquamarine eyes were filled with lust, and the corners of his lips curled into an uneven smirk.

" _You_ , my dear lass, are fantastic," he told her, his thrusts never wavering.

"I could say the same for you," she purred with a grin.

Garrett lowered himself down to rest his weight on his forearms and brushed Solona's damp hair away from her face before pressing his lips to hers again. Unlike the previous kiss, full of heat and desire, this one was softer, slower. Solona felt the hint of a flutter within her stomach, impelling her to shut her eyes and transfer her kiss from his lips down to his neck.

She wouldn't allow herself any real feelings for the pirate. She couldn't. Twice since they began, she had witnessed glaring similarities between Garrett and Anders, but it wasn't just their carnal skills that led her to know the pirate would only break her heart if she let her silly emotions get in the way. It was the pirate's arrogance, the way he carried himself, that made the two men so alike.

 _It's just sex, Solona. A distraction for both of you. Nothing more. You barely know him. Get your fool head out of the fucking clouds._

The second time Solona climaxed, Garrett maintained complete control over his own release. It wasn't until her third orgasm that he allowed himself to come again while kissing her with abandon. When he finally flopped onto his back, panting and sweating from exertion, he pulled her to his chest and graced her forehead with a soft kiss.

"You were absolutely incredible, love," he sighed. "Best tumble I've had in a good long while."

"I could definitely say the same," Solona told him, stopping short of saying she wouldn't mind doing it again at some point in the future.

He grinned. "Well, in that case, I hope it won't be the last time I find you in my bed, love. That was certainly worth a second go of it. You can even bunk here with me, if you like. As long as you understand it won't go any further than this."

Solona wanted to decline his offer. She knew in her heart it would be for the best, but she had become too lost in his green-blue eyes to deny him. He was exactly the kind of man she was trying to avoid, the kind she _needed_ to avoid at all costs. Not only that, but his statement made it clear he wasn't interested in anything more than sex.

 _Just a distraction. Nothing more. He's an amazing lover, and you've had sex without getting emotionally involved plenty of times. You can do the same with him. You're a Grey Warden now, not an inane child. You've been put in charge of stopping the Blight. Surely you can manage to have sex with this man without bringing any feelings or, Maker forbid, love into it. You've got this._

The mage's heart stopped at that thought. If she ever had even a remote chance of being with Alistair, surely it would be gone after spending the night with Garrett. She loved Alistair. He was a good man. Too good for her, obviously. What did she have left but indiscriminate sex? It was better than nothing, anyway.

"Trust me. I'm not looking for any kind of commitment here," Solona said, smirking as she lightly traced her nail down the pirate's chest. "As long as _you_ understand that, I would say your offer sounds absolutely perfect, Captain."


	36. Stay With Me

Alistair's chest and shoulders fell with a heavy sigh as he leaned against the ship's rail. He was exhausted, but given the events of the last few days, he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep if he tried. That trek through the tower had flipped his world completely upside down, and he was unsure how to feel about it all.

First, there was Solona shamelessly throwing herself at Garrett. Alistair should have known when she told him her plans to conscript Anders that any chance of a relationship between them was gone. Still, he hoped that, eventually, she might come around in the end. When he spied her lying on the bed in the pirate's quarters upon the captain opening the door, her body exposed and awaiting the man's arrival, Alistair became fully aware that all hope was lost. Apparently she had a type, and he just wasn't it.

Then there was Miriana, ever so shy and sweet. She was the kind of woman Alistair could definitely see himself getting closer to. There was only one problem with that. Like Solona, she seemed only to be interested in the captain. Not only had he recognized the heartache in her lapis eyes while her sister was flirting with the pirate, but when Garrett returned to the ship, Miriana's gaze remained on him as he maneuvered his way around the deck until Alistair accompanied her to her cabin. At least he hadn't fallen for Miriana completely, the way he had her twin, but the slight still stung a bit.

 _Face it jackass. No woman is going to find any interest in you with him around._

It wasn't as if either of the twins would find favor in him, anyway. They were obviously not the type of women whose heads were turned by the promise of being with someone of royal lineage. In fact, they seemed quite the opposite, though Alistair appreciated that Miriana took the news of his birthright with nothing more than mild shock. She was very gracious about the whole thing. She simply smiled and said, "Oh," then shook his hand and continued to let him talk, uninterrupted, about his brother and Ostagar.

When he realized she was distracted by Garrett's presence and no longer paying attention to the conversation, he offered to escort her to her quarters and she appeared grateful to accept. When they arrived at her cabin, she opened the door and turned to face him, but refused to look him in the eye.

"Thank you," she said in a soft voice. "Perhaps we can speak again later."

Although he wished it to be otherwise, Alistair was sure her suggestion was most likely a gesture of kindness more than a genuine desire to chat with him again. Her interests lay elsewhere, not with him. He wasn't even certain if she was willing to see him as a friend, given her avoidance in meeting his gaze throughout much of their exchange, though he hoped that might change in the future. Considering the fact that she had been conscripted, they would be forced to spend time together. Perhaps after the captain left when they returned to Redcliffe…No, he wasn't going to get his hopes up just to have them dashed again.

He turned his head and stared at the door of Garrett's cabin for several moments before returning his attention to the water with another sigh. Solona was in there with the pirate, and Alistair didn't need to see to know what was happening inside.

The rub of it was, he wasn't sure if he was more jealous of Garrett or Solona. Not that he had any feelings for the captain. He didn't even really know the man, but sexually, Alistair wanted Garrett more than he would ever admit. Unfortunately, the pirate made it quite clear he held no interest in sleeping with other men, which meant that Alistair was out of luck on every angle. Even if he gave up the notion of saving himself for the right person and was more amenable to indiscriminate sex, he had absolutely no chance to fulfill that secret fantasy.

The Warden felt a gentle hand pat his shoulder just before Wynne appeared at his side and settled herself against the rail. She brushed stray tendrils of silver hair away from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. She was much older than Alistair, probably old enough to be his grandmother, in fact, leaving him to wonder if she possessed wisdom to match her years. Solona seemed to have no use for the woman, but, then again, Solona didn't have any use for most people.

"You're quite taken with her, aren't you?" she asked. "Solona, I mean."

"What makes you say that?" Alistair retorted, knowing full well the woman could see right through his attempted guise.

Wynne gestured to the captain's cabin with a nod. "That's just the way she is. It's a condition quite common in the Circle. Real emotion is discouraged, but simple trysts are not, as long as the mages involved are careful regarding matters of conception. Her sexual escapades and conquests mean very little to Solona. As far as I know, she's only had feelings for one man."

"Anders," Alistair muttered.

The enchanter bobbed her head. "Yes. She told you about him and their doomed relationship, then?"

"A bit," he confessed. "She doesn't like to talk about him much."

"I can understand why. As many times as Anders ran away from the tower, away from her, you'd think she'd have gotten over him by now…But she hasn't. Even upon discovering the news of his death, she still can't let go. I don't think she ever will. This thing with the captain, it's simply what we mages like to refer to as a distraction. Solona has only ever loved Anders, and I don't see that changing anytime soon."

"So, what you're saying is, I haven't got a prayer with her," Alistair surmised.

Wynne shrugged. "I wouldn't have put it quite that way, but no. I'm sorry, you really don't. Besides, your duty as a Grey Warden and future king demands that you are called to a higher purpose." When Alistair raised a questioning brow upon hearing her knowledge of his birthright, she gave a small chuckle. "I overheard you speaking with Solona's sister. You weren't exactly quiet about it, you know."

He chided himself for such blatant indiscretion and wondered how many others aboard knew his secret. He supposed it didn't really matter much anymore. They would likely all discover the truth when they arrived at Redcliffe Castle.

"You were saying?" he drawled, attempting to sound as nonchalant as possible while dying on the inside.

The second Wynne confirmed his most dreaded suspicions regarding his chances with Solona, Alistair swore his heart cracked. The pain gripping the walls of his chest was damned near unbearable. The only thing he was truly grateful for at that moment was the fact that his stomach was empty, which kept the rising bile in his throat from spewing onto the deck. Even after everything he had been through, he had never felt more miserable in his life than he did right then, but he had to at least try to keep it together enough to finish the present conversation.

"All I'm saying is, distractions are fine. In fact, before you take the throne, they are something I would encourage, but you need to keep your emotions in check. As king, you don't have the luxury to fall in love, and as a Warden with a Blight raging all around you, you have neither the time nor the need. Your duty to the future of Ferelden should always come first, above anything else, especially your personal desires.

"You and I both know that, even if Solona was amenable to a real relationship with you, it could never be a lasting one. She is a mage. Nothing can ever come of it but a broken heart for one or both of you. Sex is a temporary distraction, but love…Love is a long term and dangerous one neither of you can afford."

Tears began to well up in Alistair's eyes as he watched the water part in waves around the hull of the ship. The enchanter was being overly harsh in her delivery, but she wasn't wrong. He was going to be king. It didn't matter what he wanted. Like Cailan, he would be forced into a loveless marriage in the hopes of producing an heir to the throne. Neither the Chantry nor his people would ever accept a mage to fulfill that role.

"Thank you," he whispered.

She placed her hand upon his shoulder again and began to massage it. "I wasn't trying to hurt your feelings, but I've never believed in dancing around a subject when something needs to be said. In time, you'll see it's for the best. For now, though, the captain did assign me a cabin on the lower deck. It's small, but comfortable, and the bed is just big enough for two if their bodies were huddled close together."

The space between Alistair's brows disappeared with disbelief. Had she really just asked him to join her in her cabin? At that very moment, the last thing on his mind was bedding anyone, especially her. She seemed like a decent enough woman, but he felt no physical attraction toward her. Besides, he wanted his first time to be with someone he cared about. He wanted it to actually mean something.

Wynne brandished a sly smirk. "Don't look so surprised. You wouldn't be the first younger man I've taken to my bed over the years, and you certainly won't be the last."

Alistair was unsure how exactly to counter the enchanter's illicit proposal. He didn't want to hurt Wynne's feelings, but he wasn't about to accept her proposition. After a long pause, he licked his lips and turned to her with a shy smile.

"I appreciate the offer. I really do, but…" He shrugged. "I'm not really into that sort of thing. I mean, don't get me wrong. You're a lovely woman and all, I just…I mean, I…I've never…"

Wynne's scowl transformed into a sympathetic smile. "Ah, I see. Say no more. Although I grew up in the Circle, I understand the want for the first time to be special. Mine certainly was. Don't get me wrong. We weren't in love or anything, but he _was_ a very dear friend for many years."

"So you've never been in love?"

"Only once," she sighed. "Ages ago. Our situation was even less ideal than normal. We were doomed from the start, but it taught me a very valuable lesson, and it's one you would do well to remember. Love is fleeting, but worse than that, it bids the most intelligent people to do the most rash and ridiculous things. It's always better to use your head instead of your heart. Your heart will only betray you in the end."

Once again, Alistair felt tears sting his eyes. Not out of sympathy for Wynne, but because he could see Solona's future in the older woman's bitter and haunted gaze. He recognized the same look in his fellow Warden every time the subject of Anders was broached. No one deserved to have such a bleak and dreary outlook, especially at such a young age.

He spotted the door of the captain's cabin out of the corner of his eye, and he actually began to hope he was wrong about Garrett. As much as he loved Solona, Alistair realized she would never share his affections, but he wanted her to be happy. He didn't want her to end up old and bitter like the enchanter standing before him. To ensure that didn't happen, perhaps a relationship with Garrett was just what she needed after all.

* * *

The sensation of a soft cheek nuzzling his shoulder woke Garrett the following morning. It was difficult to discern the time from the rays of sun trickling through the large windows behind the headboard because they forever seemed to be filtered by grey skies. The pirate peered at the small clock on his bedside table and exhaled a sigh when he realized it was nearly noon.

The evening before had been a long, but certainly not unpleasant one. After dining with his passengers, Garrett returned to his cabin with Solona on his arm. They spent the rest of the night drinking spiced rum and attempting to go through every sexual position in both of their repertoires. The mage was extremely talented and showed him pleasures even he and Isabela hadn't tried.

He turned his head toward Solona and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, which elicited a catlike grin to spread across her face. Even though her hair was a tangled mess and the kohl she wore was smudged, she was still one of the most beautiful women Garrett had ever seen. Waking up to her cuddled in his arms was a damned sight better than waking up alone.

A knot formed in his stomach at that notion. Solona was the first woman he had bedded other than Isabela since Maggie, and only the fourth in his life. Given what he had seen in the mage's eyes when they met, he knew they were cut from the same cloth. They were merely two lost souls who could find temporary comfort in each other's embrace, and when they parted, they would carry with them a few pleasant memories, nothing more. He thought he could handle that without a problem, but with Solona snuggled up against him, he was beginning to think he had made a grave error in judgement.

 _You can't let your heart get mixed up in it, mate. It's trouble you don't need._

If Garrett stayed in that bed and continued to mull things over, he knew it would only lead to somewhere he never wished to go again. So, he quietly slipped from the mage's embrace, put his feet to the floor, and pulled on his smallclothes and leather trousers. He eased over to the basin and splashed some clear, cool water on his face then stared at himself in the mirror.

The man who gazed back at him was the same one he had seen for ten years. The same one whose heart had been broken by both Isabela and Maggie. That looking glass reflected the fool he was then, the fool he refused to be any longer. He needed a change. A physical alteration to remind him that he would not fall into the perilous trap of emotions and love again.

He smoothed out his long hair with the comb from atop the dressing table, then promptly tied it together at the nape of his neck. As he retrieved the scissors from the drawer, Garrett thought of all the times since he was eight years old that Eleanor complained about the length of his hair and offered to cut it for him. He wondered if she would be pleased with his decision, wherever it was that she landed.

He gathered the end of his mane into his left hand, closed his eyes, and began to cut away at his ebony tresses with the scissors in his right, just above where it was bound. When it was finished and the blades no longer met with resistance, he turned the bundle loose and allowed it to rain on the floor at his bare feet. When his lids opened, he heard a sharp gasp echo from behind.

"What in the Maker's name did you do?" Solona questioned.

He turned to her and tilted his head in a bow. "I thought it was time for a change. What do you think, love?"

She scowled as she yanked the scissors from his hand. "I think you look absolutely ridiculous."

"Is it really that bad?"

The mage grabbed the chair next to her and pulled it behind him, then pushed down on his shoulders to prompt him to sit. "Yes. It is." She shook her head with a perturbed sigh. "Don't worry, I'll fix it."

As she began to snip away at his hair, Garrett peered up at her with a frown. "Are you sure you know what you're doing there, love?"

Solona placed her hand on the top of his head then forced his chin to his chest. "Even if I didn't, I couldn't do any worse than you have. Lucky for you, I've done this before. I used to cut my best friend's hair in the tower before he decided to grow it out long, and I trimmed Anders' hair quite often, as well."

"Anders? That's the bloke you asked the old woman about, isn't it?"

"Yes," she replied. "He was…he and I were lovers."

Garrett could tell by the tone of Solona's voice that there was much more to the story. He couldn't help but wonder if Anders was the one that had broken her heart so thoroughly. He glanced at her face in the mirror and knew the answer to his question right away. The anguished grimace she wore said it all.

"It was him, wasn't it?" the pirate queried. "The one who shattered your soul and turned your veins to ice?"

She stopped and drew a deep, ragged breath before her expression became devoid of all emotion. "Not that it's any of your business, but yes. I take it that it was Maggie that did the same to you."

Her words and callous delivery of them stung more than they should have. "One of them, yes. The last one."

"So there were others?"

"One other," he confessed. "Another pirate, named Isabela. I guess I'm a bit stubborn, but I finally learned my lesson well enough."

"As did I," the mage retorted. "Anders used to say that love was only a game. It took me far too long to realize how true that statement was."

Garrett's face screwed up in a confused expression. Solona seemed like an intelligent woman, but that admission made him begin to question that belief a bit.

"He said that? And you went after the bloke anyway?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, I know. It was exceptionally asinine of me, but I was only thirteen when I fell in love with him. By the time I grew out of the foolishness that comes with that young age, I was in far too deep and it was entirely too late."

"I was twelve when I fell in love with Isabela," Garrett told her. "She was two years older than me. The most beautiful lass I had ever seen up to that point."

"Anders was eleven years older than me," she confessed as she continued to work. "Handsome, charming, absolutely brilliant. I thought he was perfect. I just didn't realize he had the emotional capacity of a thimble."

Before Garrett could continue their conversation, Solona moved around to his front and, after a few more quick snips, stood back with her hands on her hips to admire her handiwork. "All done," she said before placing the scissors on top of the dressing table and making her way to the wardrobe. "Last night, you said you had some more clothes I could borrow, yes? Just until I get my armor back from Levitt."

Garrett couldn't fault the mage her avoidance of furthering the subject. He completely understood. He didn't want to talk about Isabela or Maggie anymore either. They were both heartaches he didn't care to revisit.

"Top drawer, love. There should be another pair of wool leggings, and you can wear whichever shirt you want."

Without another word, Solona rummaged through the drawer until she found the pants Garrett offered, then pulled one of his black silk shirts from the top half of the wardrobe. Within moments, she was completely dressed, though he couldn't fathom how she managed wearing wool without smalls. He couldn't stand the feel of the rough material anywhere on his skin, let alone around his nethers, but she didn't seem to mind donning the pieces of clothing his friend left behind on her prior voyages.

When she was finished strapping her boots, Solona bestowed a peck on his cheek. "I'm going to see if my armor's ready now and maybe find some breakfast."

It was obvious the mage's intent was to get away from Garrett as fast as possible, and he was grateful to the spirits for it. Even if he were stupid enough to think of falling for Solona, she made it clear by her actions the sentiment would never be returned. Their time together was only to consist of them taking pleasure in each other's bodies and carnal expertise.

 _What had she called it? A distraction. Nothing more. Nothing less._

* * *

After speaking to Levitt about her armor only to discover it wasn't yet dry, Solona made her way back up to the deck. As much as she had enjoyed Garrett's company the previous evening, after their conversation that morning, she felt the need to avoid him, at least for a little while. She was already in love with one man she couldn't have, she certainly wasn't ready to make it two.

Her intention was to find Alistair so they could make plans about what they would do once they arrived in Redcliffe the next morning. Unfortunately, her fellow Warden was nowhere to be found up top, so she ambled back toward the steps leading below. She was almost to the door, when she spotted her sister leaning against the portside railing, staring out at the shoreline in the distance.

When Solona approached her and placed a firm hand on Miri's shoulder, her twin jumped then recoiled at the contact. The Warden jerked her hand away. She should have known better. Miriana never cared for physical contact when it came as a surprise.

She shook her head as she leaned against the rail at Miri's left side. "A copper for your thoughts, Sister."

The other woman exhaled a quiet sigh. "Hello, Solona."

"I take it by your pouting that you're upset with me over conscripting you."

Miriana shrugged then turned her face toward her sister, her lapis eyes silently pleading. "I don't want to be a Grey Warden, Solona. I just want to go home, back to the Circle where I belong. Where it's safe."

"Safe?" the Warden scoffed. "Did anything about Kinloch Hold seem _safe_ to you?"

"It's better than being tainted by darkspawn," Miri countered.

Solona arched an incredulous brow. "Have you already forgotten all the blood everywhere? All those people with their guts spilled and splattered all over the floors and walls? Or did you somehow manage to keep your eyes shut the entire way?"

"But it's over now," her sister argued. "The demons and blood mages have all been dealt with. There's no reason to fear any longer."

The Warden was forced to take a deep breath to calm her nerves. She had invoked the Right to liberate her twin from the confines of the Circle. She thought Miri would be grateful for that freedom. Unfortunately, it seemed her sister had been brainwashed by the Chantry and its priestesses just like so many others before her.

Any doubts Solona once harbored about conscripting Miriana melted away completely in that moment. Getting Miri away from the Circle was obviously the best thing for her. Besides, Solona had no intention of putting her twin through the Joining, even if she had the materials and the knowhow. She wouldn't do that to her worst enemy, let alone her sister.

Her plan was to keep Miriana with her, to ensure her safety, until the end of the Blight, then allow her twin to go her own way. Now that Solona was aware of Miriana's affection for the Circle, however, she wasn't about to tell Miri her intentions. As far as Solona was aware, she and Alistair were the only ones in Ferelden who knew about the Joining Ritual, and she meant to keep it that way. She only hoped the other woman would come to understand the travesty and injustice of the Circle before the Blight was over. Either way, Solona would do what was best for Miri, whether her sister liked it or not.

"Well, it really doesn't matter anymore," the Warden claimed "What's done is done. You are with the Grey Wardens now, Sister. There is no going back to the Circle. It's for your own good."

Miriana's face twisted into an anguished grimace, and she appeared as if she might break down into tears. At first, Solona thought her twin was just being overly melodramatic, as she had a tendency to do, but it didn't take long to realize there was more than the conscription bothering the other woman. Could it be that Miri was upset over Solona bedding Garrett?

"He'll only break your heart, you know." Solona offered as consolation. "You're better off not getting involved with a man like Garrett. I'm really doing you a favor by distracting him."

Miriana jerked her head to glare at her sister, her chest heaving with every deep and incensed breath. Solona could have sworn she saw her twin's eyes flash silver for a split second, but quickly dismissed it as a trick of the light. It was a side of Miri her sister had rarely witnessed when they were children, and she was angrier than Solona had ever seen her.

"I am sick and tired of everyone around me doing things they know will hurt my feelings and then expecting me to thank them for it," she seethed. "You didn't bed Garrett because you were trying to spare me pain. You did it because you wanted to do it. I doubt my feelings were even a consideration beforehand, just an afterthought because you thought it might bother me and you wanted to allay your own guilt."

"Actually…" Solona began in explanation, but Miri cut her off.

"No! For once in your life, you will shut up and listen to me for a change. You conscripted me without even talking to me about it first. Then, you seduced Garrett into taking you to his bed when you obviously knew I liked him. And to top it all off, you have the gall to tell me both things were for my own good. I have news for you, _Sister_ , I don't need your bloody protection. I've done just fine on my own for the past fourteen years."

Miriana's shouting prompted Solona's ire to rise along with her sister's, but she managed to maintain her apathetic guise. "In the Circle? I would hardly call that fending for yourself, Miriana."

"It's a damned sight better than what you offer," her twin countered before her voice and expression softened and tears began to gather in her eyes. "Don't you get it? I'm not angry because you shared a bed with Garrett. I can't be. I know I don't have a prayer of turning his head. Yes, it hurts, but I'll get over that, eventually. What I can't abide by is you trying to justify doing it by saying it's for my protection. If you want to have sex with him, by all means, be my guest, but don't make me an excuse for your behavior or as a way to clear your conscience."

Miri didn't wait for any type of reply or comment from Solona. Instead, she spun on her heel and hurried to her cabin, slamming the door shut behind her. Miriana had been wrong, of course. Although Solona desired to bed Garrett for her own pleasure, part of her reasoning really was to protect her sister's heart from the emotional pain a man like him would give her in the end. Maker knew she wished someone would have cared enough about her to do the same.

"Are you alright?" she heard Alistair ask from her left.

"Yes," she nodded. "I'll be fine."

"I think there's some breakfast left, if you're hungry," he told her. "Just stay away from the oatmeal. That shit settles like a damned rock. I'm pretty sure it's really the compound dwarves use for their masonry work disguised as food." Solona bit her lips together to stifle a chuckle. "No, seriously. I picked up my spoon and the whole fucking wad came out with it. It looked a bit like a lumpy lollipop. Of course, it didn't taste like a lolly, more like….well, let's just say I'd rather run my tongue across a darkspawn's ass. It would have to taste better than whatever _that_ shit was."

Between the jokes about his breakfast and the feigned expression of disgust on Alistair's face, Solona couldn't contain her laughter. Somehow, he always knew exactly what to do to calm her spirit. Even if they would never be lovers, she could always count on him to be her best friend, at least for a while. At least until he left her just like everyone else in her life had.

* * *

Solona seemed to be in much better spirits when she and Alistair reached the ship's galley. Her sister's admonition bothered her more than she let on. After spending so much time together over the previous months, he knew her well enough to recognize the mask of indifference she donned when she was trying to disguise her feelings.

Alistair only managed to catch the tail end of the conversation, but from what he heard, Solona was definitely in the wrong, though his fellow Warden would never admit that. He wasn't even sure she was aware of just how wrong she was. In Solona's mind, she could very well have been thinking she was doing her sister a favor by steering Garrett's attentions and affections away. As much as he wished he could cheer both women up, he was more afraid to hurt Solona's feelings. He simply didn't know Miriana well enough yet.

He had only been half joking when he told Solona about the oatmeal lolly. The thing was so Maker awful, he only managed a few nibbles before his gag reflexes forced him to drop it back into the bowl. He only hoped he would be able to scrounge up something halfway edible for them because the rumbling in his gut was getting louder by the minute.

Solona inhaled a deep breath and smiled. "Something smells delicious."

"It does," Alistair agreed with a confused expression. "Maybe Ramirez knows how to cook, after all."

"I wouldn't count on that, mate," Garrett said as he strode out of the kitchen. "The bloke's been a part of this crew since before I was born, and I've never known him to make anything that resembled food outside of cold sandwiches."

Alistair had mixed emotions about being in the same room with the captain and Solona. On one hand, he was starving and finding food was becoming more necessity than desire. On the other hand, knowing what had taken place between the two of them made for a very awkward atmosphere. He was certain they wanted him to leave so they could spend time alone, and Alistair knew he should probably just head out the door, but he simply couldn't take his eyes off Garrett.

Sometime between supper the previous evening and when they met him in the galley, Garrett had cut his hair short, nearly as short as Alistair's own. The new style definitely suited the pirate. The way the ebony, sideswept fringe of hair lightly grazed his left brow enhanced the aquamarine color of his already stunning eyes, making him appear even more debonair and handsome than before.

"Then why keep him as a cook?" Solona questioned.

Alistair absentmindedly ran his tongue over his lips as he imagined pressing them to Garrett's and running his fingers through the pirate's dark mane. His breath quickened with that notion while his gaze traced down the lines of the captain's body to all the places he wished he could trail soft, wet kisses. His erect cock twitched upon imagining taking Garrett's into his mouth, finally drawing him out of his lust filled trance. He sidestepped behind the table, praying his armor did a fair enough job in hiding his excitement, his face flushed with both embarrassment and desire.

 _Just go, jackass. He's going to figure it out if you keep gawking at him like that. He already made it clear he's not interested and never will be. Right now, I doubt they'd even notice if you left. The perfect time to get away.  
_

No matter how much he tried to convince himself, Alistair couldn't will his feet to move as the pirate answered Solona's question with a casual shrug. "He's loyal and never complains, not even when the men harass him. He's also the one who found my sorry hide stuck in a crate of bananas when I was a wee babe. He could've just tossed me overboard to become bait for the sharks, but he had the good nature to take me to the old captain instead."

 _So, he's an orphan too? I guess it's not surprising, given that he's a pirate now. Most of them probably are. Okay, so you have that in common. Wait, why in the holy Maker's balls are you even thinking that? Yeah, that's really going to sway him to...  
_

"So why not just assign him to another duty?" asked the mage.

 _Why in the bloody Maker's name are you still standing here like a fucking idiot? You'd be better off to just leave now and come back when they're gone. The longer you wait, the better chance you have at him noticing the hard-on he's giving you.  
_

"Because he's absolute shite with a blade and can't work a rigging to save his ass. But, as I said, the man's loyal and that counts for a lot on my ship." He gestured to the kitchen area with a tilt of his head. "Just finished making breakfast, by the way. I've got extra, if either of you is interested."

The young warrior blanched a bit at the suggestion. Was Garrett just being courteous or was his invitation sincere? Alistair couldn't imagine the captain really wanted him to stick around when he had Solona as company. In his present state of excitement, he considered turning down Garrett's offer, he knew he probably should, but his rumbling gut won out in the end.

"Sure," he said, attempting to retain as much of his composure as he could muster. "As long as it's not oatmeal. I don't think I could stomach anymore of that…ever."

Garrett chuckled, the timbre of his laugh genuine and warm. "You think that's bad, you should try his eggs. Full of shells, and bugger me if they aren't the prettiest shade of pale green. I think it has something to do with the copper pot he uses to prepare them, but if I'm being honest, I really don't want to know for sure. I just keep my distance from the damned things."

 _Damn, he's sexy._

"Sound advice," said Alistair with a lopsided grin. "I'll make sure to keep that in mind." As Garrett turned his back to head into the kitchen, the prince added, "Nice hair, by the way."

He nearly melted into a heap when the captain looked over his shoulder with a lopsided smirk. "Thanks, mate."

The pirate disappeared through the doorway and returned a few minutes later with a tray bearing three plates of freshly prepared hearthcakes doused in thick, dark syrup and another plate piled with piping hot sausages. Alistair's stomach emitted a much louder growl than before in anticipation of finally being filled with real food. His face flushed with embarrassment, but the others either didn't hear it or chose to ignore it. When the captain set the plate down in front of Alistair and he got a better look at the fare, however, he scowled and immediately pushed it away.

Garrett lifted a brow. "Not to your liking, mate? A little too unrefined for your royal palate, then?"

Alistair groaned. "It's not that. It's just…" His scowl altered to an expression of utter disgust. "Blueberries. Blech."

"You got something against blueberries?" the captain questioned with bewilderment. "I thought everyone liked blueberries."

"Not me," the warrior replied with a shake of his head. "I hate the ruddy things. They're bad enough by themselves, but cooked in hearthcakes?" He shivered. "It's like biting into a pus filled boil and having it squirt all over inside your mouth. Just nasty."

Garrett's brow furrowed as he stared at Alistair like the man had just said the most ridiculously stupid thing he ever heard in his life. The future king's skin grew hot again and began to glow a brighter shade of red than ever before. He supposed the captain thought him childish in his distaste for the offered fare. Childish and ungrateful. It couldn't be helped, though. Alistair knew if he were to attempt to eat the hearthcakes out of propriety, he would have just gagged as soon as he began to chew. He couldn't count how many times the sisters in the monastery made him choke down the bloody things, which always ended with him vomiting them up as soon as he left the dining hall.

"More for me and the lass, then, I suppose," the pirate shrugged as he pulled the plate to the middle of the table. He distributed the two pancakes, one to himself and the other to Solona, then pushed the platter of sausages toward Alistair. "Not opposed to those too, are you?"

It was a small gesture of kindness Alistair hadn't expected from Garrett. When the pirate aided Cullen with the lyrium kit the day before, the prince assumed it was merely the captain's way of protecting his crew and the other passengers. Perhaps Garrett was more altruistic than his pirate persona made him appear. He had helped them defeat the demons and maleficar in the tower, after all, and he was providing them passage to Redcliffe. Was it possible he was both a pirate and a good man? That certainly did nothing to help quell Alistair's attraction.

"Not at all," the young warrior replied with a grin before adding, " _You_ cooked these though, right?"

Garrett shook his head with a laugh. "Just eat the bloody things, your Majesty, before a kraken mistakes the growling in your stomach for a mating call."

Alistair groaned. "Please don't call me that."

"Then what should I call you, mate?" the captain asked. "Maybe 'jackass' would be more to your liking, then?"

"I'm pretty sure it means the same thing," Alistair replied with a chuckle while spearing one of the sausages with his fork.

Garrett made a clicking sound between the teeth on the left side of his mouth. "Alright, if that's the way you want it, mate. I guess there's only one more question to be asked, then."

"What's that?" the prince replied, dreading the answer.

"Do you want some eggs to go along with those sausages, jackass?"


	37. Ritual at Redcliffe

Miriana stood to the right of the bowsprit watching the fishermen go about their business on the approaching docks. Although the morning sun was veiled in a wall of thick, grey clouds, the young mage still needed to squint against the harsh light. Because she was afraid to find Remus waiting for her in her dreams, she hadn't slept since the day she and the others boarded the ship after leaving the Circle tower. Completely exhausted, she would have given almost anything just to get an hour or two of unhindered rest.

After her argument with Solona, Miri shut herself in her cabin and wiled away her time reading the books Garrett loaned to her. It had been less than a week since the last time the captain joined her in her cabin for supper filled with conversation and amusing anecdotes of the pirate's adventures on the high seas, yet it seemed a lifetime ago. Garrett's choice was obvious. Solona won out over her plain and boring sister, leaving Miriana to question why she left Ostwick in the first place. She never dreamed she would be faced with the exact same problem she had with Julia when she departed that Circle.

Garrett did at least have the courtesy to check on Miri the previous afternoon, but she knew it was only as a matter of propriety. Why else would he bother? She heaved a forlorn sigh and leaned further into the rail.

"Are you alright, love?" she heard his voice from directly behind her. "You're looking a little pale."

She shrugged. "I'm fine, just a little tired."

"Didn't sleep well?" he asked.

"Not really," she replied. "To be honest, I didn't sleep at all."

"Bed that uncomfortable, then? You should have told me. I would've been happy to trade for the night."

Miriana's brow furrowed. Would he really have been willing to give up his bed, the bed he shared with Solona, just for her comfort? She found his statement difficult to believe, but when she turned to peer up at him, her gaze was met with sincerity and concern. If he was lying, she certainly couldn't see it.

"I appreciate that," she said in a soft voice. "But it wasn't the bed. I've been plagued by…nightmares."

"I'm right sorry to hear that, love. Had quite a few of them myself since Highever, but never any so bad that I couldn't sleep at all."

"These aren't just regular nightmares," Miri whispered. "They're…"

Unsure if Remus might somehow be listening to their conversation, Miriana forced herself to stop speaking. Although she promised the Tevinter she would help him, and her vow seemed to placate him at the time, she was almost certain he would be angry if he discovered she was speaking to Garrett about his invasion of her dreams. She was keenly aware that Remus's obsession of her went much deeper than a desire for her aid, and it was quite obvious he was jealous of Garrett.

 _It figures. The only man's head I've ever managed to turn, and he's possessed and completely insane._

The pirate's brows knitted together with a frown then he gestured to the door of his cabin with a tilt of his head. "Maybe you'd be more comfortable talking in my cabin, then, love?" His lips curved into a warm, uneven smile accompanied by a mischievous wink. "I even have some of that brandy left, if it tickles your fancy."

Miriana's breath hitched in her throat, and her jaw went slack. For a moment, she almost allowed herself to believe his proposition alluded to more than friendly conversation. Then, she remembered that he was bedding her sister.

 _He's just being nice. Just like before. It doesn't mean anything. It's Solona he wants. Not you._

Miri considered refusing Garrett's offer. Not only was he already involved with her twin, but getting him entangled in her troubles with Remus could likely get the captain hurt or, worse yet, killed. Unfortunately, when he crooked his elbow for her to take, she simply didn't possess the willpower to deny him.

"Thank you," she said quietly as she slipped her arm around the pirate's.

He gave her bicep a gentle pat then led her toward the door to his quarters. "No trouble at all, love. You know me. I never turn down the chance for a drink and conversation with a lass as lovely as yourself."

* * *

Garrett was furious when he left his cabin. After Miriana told him what Remus had been doing to her, he was tempted to find the bastard and run him through, but she made him swear on his life he wouldn't harm the slimy git. Though it went against his better judgement, the captain intended to keep his vow to Miri, but that didn't mean he couldn't threaten the ruddy little shit.

When he reached the tiny cabin he had assigned to the Tevinter, Garrett forced himself to stop and take a deep breath before knocking on the door. He wanted to kick the bloody thing in, but knew doing so would only fuel his anger further. After a moment, the lock clicked and the door opened wide enough for Remus to peek out.

The space between the Tevinter's brows diminished as he peered up at the taller man. "Is there something I can help you with, Captain?"

"I just need a few minutes of your time before we dock, mate," the pirate replied, pushing his way through the door. "Won't take long."

As Garrett brushed past the other man, a wave of nausea threatened to overtake him, and his head began to throb. He blinked his eyes against the pain and the dizziness that seemed to worsen with every step. Miriana warned Garrett that Remus was more dangerous than either of them first believed, but, until that moment, the pirate didn't realize the full weight of that implication. He would definitely need to rethink his approach on the confrontation.

The mage shut the door and turned to face Garrett. "Of course, Captain. What can I do for you?"

"I got a troubling complaint from one of my passengers," the pirate began in a calm and even voice. "The lady, Miriana. She says she's been having some trouble sleeping as of late. You wouldn't know anything about that would you, mate?"

Remus's shoulders slumped with a heavy sigh. "I never meant to upset Lady Miriana. I just wanted to talk to her, but she seemed…reluctant. So I visited her dreams."

The captain arched a condescending brow. "Take a little piece of advice, mate. You should probably find a new approach if you want to woo the lass. While stepping through a woman's dreams may gain you a captive audience, it's not going to be something that'll hold out for you in the long run. I don't know a one of them that wants to be kidnapped like that."

"But," the other man interrupted.

Garrett raised his hand to stop the explanation before it began. "Hold on, mate. Let me say my peace. What's done is done, but as captain of this vessel, it's my job to look out for my passengers. If I let you continue your dream walking now that I know about it, well, I'm just not doing my job, then. Am I? So, I'd be most appreciative if you made sure that didn't happen again, mate. Savvy?"

"I understand, Captain," Remus nodded with a contrite frown. "And I apologize. It shan't happen again."

The pirate presented the Tevinter with the slightest of bows. "Appreciate it, mate. Now, if you'll pardon me, I have to prepare the ship to dock."

Garrett spun on his heel to leave, grateful to the spirits to finally remove himself from the other man's presence, when Remus stopped him. "Captain, I overheard some of the mages on board talking about a possessed boy. I would like to help if I can."

The captain closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Taking Remus along to perform a ritual to exercise a demon seemed like a colossally bad idea after everything Miriana told him about the man. Maybe he was looking to add another one to his collection. At the same time, it would afford Garrett the chance to finally get the bastard off his ship, but how much more of a danger would he pose if he were allowed to attend or even join the ritual? Then again, what would Remus do if Garrett refused the request?

He considered the fact that there were going to be four templars in attendance, five if he counted Alistair, and each of them spent years training to deal with such threats. Not to mention the fact that there were going to be at least nine mages participating already, possibly more considering Solona mentioned she left a few people behind in Redcliffe when she and Alistair departed for Kinloch. That many people equipped to either negate magic or to wield it should be able to handle one mage, no matter how many demons possessed him.

"Alright," Garrett agreed as he turned the handle of the door. "Get your gear together and meet the others on deck. I expect bringing you this far fulfills my end of our bargain, then?"

Remus inclined his head in a small nod. "Of course, Captain."

* * *

Alistair was a bit surprised when Solona chose Jowan to be the one to go into the Fade to retrieve Connor. He was a blood mage, after all, and more susceptible to fall prey to the will of demons. As the mages were gathered in a large circle around Jowan with Connor's body lying at his feet and concentrating on the task at hand, Alistair stood next to Garrett several feet behind Solona.

While he waited, he scanned the faces of the mages who were turned toward him. Each one was bathed in a silver-blue light as they murmured chants that were barely more than unified whispers with lids closed in deep meditation. After several moments, the prince's eyes began to grow heavy against the quiet drone, forcing him to focus his attention elsewhere, lest he fall asleep standing.

His gaze moved to Cullen who was standing farther back from the other three templars. Unlike his fellows, whose stares remained fixed on the maleficar in the center of the circle, Cullen's gaze was settled solely on the odd little man dressed in a thick black cloak who stood to the left of Miriana. Alistair couldn't say that he blamed his former friend for the guarded apprehension in his eyes. From the moment he met Remus before they departed the ship, the prince could sense there was something untoward about the man. He seemed friendly enough with his shy demeanor and soft spoken voice, but there was something else there. Something that felt almost sinister, somehow.

Out of the corner of his eye, Alistair noticed Garrett's right hand ease over to the hilt of the cutlass on his left hip. He followed the pirate's narrowed stare and realized Garrett was watching Cullen as intently as Cullen was watching Remus. The prince absentmindedly ran his tongue over his lips as he drew a deep breath and tilted his head back to whisper in Garrett's ear.

"Expecting trouble?" he questioned.

Garrett turned his head until his scruffy cheek was lightly pressed against Alistair's and his lips nearly close enough to touch the prince's ear. The pirate exhaled a warm, protracted breath, causing gooseflesh to prickle Alistair's skin and his body to tremble as his manhood rose to full attention. He suddenly became very dizzy, drunk off the heady mixture of fine leather, sandalwood, exotic spices and dark rum. Fighting the temptation to gently nip Garrett's lobe with his teeth, he closed his eyes and wet his lips with his tongue.

"I'm always expecting trouble, mate," the captain replied in a low voice. "But Curly's set my fingers to twitching. That man's about a toe's slip from the end of the plank and I mean to be ready when he falls overboard."

Alistair had to fight the urge to laugh at that sentiment. First, because the mental image of Cullen slipping and falling from the plank of a ship into the water just tickled him, but mainly because Garrett called the templar by a nickname he loathed. Yes, it had been six years, and, yes, they were both no better than children at the time, but dammit, Alistair just couldn't let go of all the trouble Cullen caused him back in the monastery.

When Garrett pulled away and went back to observing the templar, the longing flutters in Alistair's gut nearly made him sick.

 _Forget it, jackass. Not going to happen._

"The demon is gone," Irving announced just before Jowan hit the floor with a loud thud that reverberated through the castle's great hall.

The next moment, the ringing of a sword being pulled from its scabbard followed the echo made by the mage's fallen body. In a flash, Cullen was rushing Remus and knocking him to the ground with the edge of his blade against the Tevinter's throat, proceeded closely by Garrett with the point of his cutlass at the back of the templar's neck. Remus pulled his arms free and began to push against the hilt of templar's sword.

"It's not gone," Cullen cried as his trembling hands struggled to regain full control of his sword. "Can't you see? It's in _him_."

"Back off, mate," Garrett warned. "You have no idea the trouble you're getting yourself into."

Alistair hurried to the pirate's side intending to pull the templar off the smaller man, when the air in the room seemed to shift with an unseen force, followed by the sensation of magic darker than any he had ever experienced before. Instead of grabbing Cullen, Alistair tackled Garrett to the floor, closed his eyes, and attempted to call the familiar candle into his darkened vision. It was no use, however, something was blocking his ability.

A thundering crack resonated across the chamber, and Alistair opened his eyes in time to see Cullen fly through the air and crash into the wall on the other side of the room. Remus's entire body went as stiff as a corpse then lifted from the ground into a standing position and began to float several inches off the floor. His entire form became engulfed in a brilliant red light, which seemed to radiate from somewhere inside him, followed by the putrid stench of sulfur permeating the entire atmosphere of the room. He opened his lids to reveal abysmal black eyes with thick tendrils of red smoke curling across their surfaces, then lifted his hands in the air. Tiny sparks of lightning crackled about his fingertips as he pointed them in Cullen's direction, preparing for the final strike.

Garrett pushed against Alistair's chest with his palms and slid out from under the warrior's weight before bouncing onto his feet in a crouch and pulling two small throwing knives from his weapons belt. He then pivoted on the balls of his feet and flung the blades at Remus's throat with a quick flick of his wrists, but both of the knives simply bounced off the crimson barrier surrounding the mage and fell to the floor with a clatter.

Distracted from his original target, the Tevinter turned his full attention to his latest attacker. The pirate then reached for the remaining cutlass at his hip, fully prepared to take on the possessed man, but before he was given the opportunity to regain his full height, Miriana placed herself between Remus and Garrett.

Where Remus was surrounded in a lambency of red and black, Miri's body was illuminated by gleaming white and shimmering silver beams of light. The unbound ringlets that fell loose from her braid fluttered in a light breeze not felt by anyone else in the room. When she finally spoke, it was in her usual soft tone, but her words were echoed by a richer, more ethereal voice.

"Remus. You need to stop. Think on what you are about to do, and what you will surely become if you proceed. Are you ready to risk everything, your soul, for this vengeance?"

The incandescence around the Tevinter faded as his feet slowly descended back to the floor. He blinked once to reveal that his darkened eyes had reverted back to light blue. When he exhaled a long breath, his shoulders and chest shook with heavy sobs right before he fell to his knees at Miriana's feet.

She turned to the other Circle mages and the templars in the room and lifted her hands into the air, the light breeze altering to what Alistair likened to a balmy summer wind. "Forget," she whispered in the same haunting voice with which she spoke to Remus.

The light and air seemed to leave her body to dissipate over the room. Alistair shut his eyes to allow the warmth to envelop him like a comfortable blanket and inhaled a deep breath to fill his senses with the aromas of primrose, marigold, and hyssop. He remembered the demon of sloth from the tower and how it used such tactics to transport him into the Fade, and for a moment, he worried the same thing was about to happen. Fighting against the urge to sleep, Alistair's lids flew open in time to see Miriana crumple to the floor.

* * *

"What the fuck was that?" Solona questioned as Alistair scrambled across the floor to check on her sister.

It was obvious that the Tevinter mage that accompanied them from the ship was possessed. Solona had studied demonology enough to know the signs, but she had never heard of any one person wielding so much power since the time of the ancient magisters. It wasn't so much about what the man did, but how the atmosphere around him changed. Where Flemeth's magic felt ancient and a bit dark, Remus's felt like evil incarnate. She recalled the Pride demon from her Harrowing, it was like that, but much worse.

Then, of course, there was Miri. Somehow, Solona's sister had been possessed as well, but the spirit inside her didn't give a sense of malice at all. It felt benevolent, powerful, and, in a strange way, protective. Whatever was inside Miriana, the templars would demand to return her to Kinloch where she would likely be executed, if they didn't decide to do it right away. Even the Grey Wardens couldn't stop what was about to happen to her.

Cullen approached her, rubbing the back of his head. "What in the Maker's name just happened?"

Solona arched a brow. "What do you remember?"

"The last thing I remember is watching Jowan fall," he told her before pointing to the place where Remus tossed him against the wall. "Then I was standing over there with a splitting headache."

Solona recalled the last word Miri said before she collapsed. _Forget._ Maybe the spirit inside her sister used some sort of memory spell on the templars. But how was she able to recall the events that transpired?

She shrugged. "I don't know, Cullen. I watched you wander away over there when the ritual was over, but I can't possibly begin to tell you what you were thinking when you did it. Only you can answer that question."

The templar's face screwed up in a befuddled expression. "Perhaps it's an after effect of the lyrium withdrawals, and I'm still having trouble with everything that happened at the tower when I was locked in that cage."

"Well," Solona said, placing a hand on his cheek. "I hope that will become easier for you with time. I hate to see you like this."

Her heart skipped a beat when he placed his hand over hers and his lips curved into a gentle, uneven smile. "Thank you, Solona. By the way…about the things I said back in the tower when you found me…"

"Don't worry about it," she told him with a smile of her own. "It's forgotten."

 _Don't start this, Solona. You know better. The man's half out of his head from what happened to him. As bad as Anders was, you certainly don't need that kind of trouble in your life. Besides, he's a templar. Even if he gets over this, sooner or later, he'll return to the Circle. He'll leave you just as sure as everyone else has._

Solona dropped her hand to her side. "I need to check on my sister," she told him before spinning on her heel and hurrying away.

From what she gathered by the whispering among the other mages as she walked past, no one recalled anything untoward after Jowan fainted. In fact, they all just stood around congratulating themselves on performing such a monumental feat. It seemed that there was nothing to worry about, after all, at least as far as Miriana being forced to return to the Circle was concerned.

Solona knelt down next to her sister and brushed the stray tendrils of hair from her cheek. Her skin was cool to the touch, but not overly cold, and her chest rose and fell easily. It was a good sign. She glanced across the unconscious body of her twin and caught Garrett's eye. The crease in the pirate's brow deepened.

"She'll be fine," the Warden mage reassured him, but her words did nothing to soften his expression.

He leaned in closer to her. "It's not my imagination, right?" he questioned in a low voice. "You saw all those weird lights and that bastard floating in midair, too, didn't you, love? Or have I completely lost my bloody mind?"

The mage nodded. "Yes, I saw it, but no one else seems to remember." She turned to Alistair. "What about you?"

"Floating Tevinter? Flying templar? Strange lights coming out of your sister? Nope, didn't see anything like that. You two must be under some kind of joint delusion. I'm just going to back away slowly, now. Don't try to follow me. I've got a sword and I know how to use it."

"Don't flatter yourself, jackass," Garrett snarked. "I've seen you use that sword. You're just as likely to hurt yourself. But don't worry. I'm sure our Tevinter friend would be happy to heal you. Seems a right benevolent bloke, nothing creepy about him at all."

"Yeah, thanks a lot," Alistair mumbled. "Asshat."

The pirate's head jerked back with a grimace. "What did you just call me, mate? Did you call me an…asshat?"

Alistair shrugged with a sheepish grin. "It's a templar thing. When Knight Commander Glavin used to get pissed at us, he'd tell us to 'You better straighten up your shit, initiate, or I'm going to be wearing your ass as a hat by morning.' So, we took to calling each other asshat."

"Well, if it's all the same to you, mate, I'd prefer you keep your ass and everything else to yourself. I don't know what kind of kinky shit you templars are into, but my ship sails in a different direction."

Solona swore she recognized disappointment flash in her fellow Warden's eyes upon hearing Garrett's words before he gave a small chuckle. "Trust me, you've got nothing to worry about there. Like I said, you've got the legs for it, but I prefer someone a bit softer with a lot less hair on their chest. Now, if you ever decide to shave and put on a dress, I might be willing to reconsider."

Garrett rubbed his hand across his chest. "I'm not shaving this chest for anybody, mate. It's legendary. Entire books have been written about this chest hair."

Solona heaved an annoyed sigh. "If you two are finished confirming your masculinity, can we please get back to work?"

She just couldn't take listening to the two men's banter anymore. After Alistair's admission of his first kiss to her, Solona knew her fellow Warden was just posturing for Garrett's sake. Not only that, but she had seen the way he looked at the pirate. There was no mistaking the lust in Alistair's eyes. Luckily for him, Garrett seemed oblivious to those secret desires.

For the first time since she met the man, Solona was actually happy to see Teagan approach. He crouched next to her with a perturbed frown.

"Is your sister alright, my lady?" he asked. "She is your sister, isn't she?"

Garrett waggled his head. "No mate. Not at all. It's just coincidence that they look exactly alike."

Solona closed her eyes against the nobleman's oncoming tirade as she began to wonder if the pirate took anything seriously at all. Teagan rose to his feet and scowled at the captain. "Do I know you, ser?"

"Well," Garrett began. "It's been a few years. Nice to see the beard finally grew out."

"I would know your name, ser," Teagan demanded, his scowl deepening.

The pirate leapt to his feet and flourished a low bow. "Captain Hawke of Yavana's Call, the finest pirate to ever sail the seven seas."

The nobleman's lids narrowed as he glared at the captain, after a moment, recognition finally flashed in his eyes, but his face didn't soften. "Garrett. The waif the Couslands used to extend their charity to. You were quite the project for the teyrna."

"Watch what you say about my family, Teagan," the pirate threatened, prompting Solona to jump to her feet and put herself between the two men.

She still needed Arl Eamon's aid, and Garrett getting into a brawl with the nobleman would do nothing to further her cause. She peered down at Jowan lying helpless on the floor in the middle of the room while everyone else ignored his presence completely. Lady Isolde had already ordered her guards to take Connor to his room, leaving what she considered the trash behind.

It didn't matter that he had just saved Connor's life. It didn't matter that he did his best to atone for his transgressions. No one would see him for the man she knew him to be. They would see him only as a maleficar. A beast that needed to be disposed of. She had to help him. She had to do something for the one person she had known longer than anyone in her life. Yes, he betrayed her, but he didn't deserve death or tranquility for it.

"Bann Teagan," she began as she took his arm and led him toward the throne. What she planned next was going to upset the bann enough, and she didn't need the pirate making it worse. "There is something important I need to discuss with you."

He presented her with a lecherous smile that forced her to swallow back the bile it prompted to rise in her throat. The man was completely obnoxious, but she needed to play along with his flirting, at least until she softened his disposition a bit. He kissed her hand and she nearly gagged.

"Anything you need, dear lady. My time is yours."

"Lady Isolde mentioned something about the Urn of Sacred Ashes?"

"Yes," he replied. "Isolde believes the Urn could restore Eamon. We've tried everything else. Perhaps it is the only thing that will help, after all."

"And where would I begin looking for this Urn?"

"There is a Chantry scholar named Brother Genitivi. Have you heard of him?"

 _Unless I've been living under a rock my entire life, you pompous ass._

"Yes, I've heard of him. He's written many books on the history of Thedas."

"I understand that he might know the whereabouts of the Urn. Isolde has sent soldiers out to find him, but so far, they've had no luck. However, I've recently heard he has a sister who resides in the village of Honnleath. It's about three days' ride south of here."

"Well," Solona said with a coy smile. "It's a lead anyway. I'll need a few hours to gather supplies before we head out this afternoon. That way, we can get a few hours travel in before nightfall. The sooner we get there, the closer we'll be to the arl's recovery. Even if we don't find Genitivi, it is my hope this sister can at least point us in the right direction."

The mage cringed when the bann's lips touched the back of her hand again. "Thank you, my lady. You don't know how much this means to me and my family."

She pulled her hand from his grasp, a bit more forcefully than she intended. "Of course, my lord. I shall return to Redcliffe as soon as possible."

Solona turned in time to see Garrett and Alistair help Miriana to her feet and lead her toward the door. She waited until they disappeared and took two steps forward before returning her attention to Teagan. From the corner of her eye she spotted Jowan slowly picking himself up from the floor. Although she was happy to see him conscious, she donned her familiar mask of indifference.

"There is one other matter before I go, my lord."

"Of course, my lady," he grinned. "Anything."

"There is the matter of Jowan."

"I believe his fate should be left for my brother to decide, don't you?" the bann asked.

Solona arched a brow. "Under normal circumstances, I would be inclined to agree with you. However, his is a special case. I require aid for the Blight, and I believe this mage could be a valuable asset to the Grey Wardens."

Teagan shook his head. "I'm sorry, my lady, but if you are asking to take this mage with you, I'm afraid my answer is no."

"Considering what I just went through to save your nephew's life, I would think you would be more agreeable to my request, my lord."

"While I appreciate what you've done, my lady, I still cannot in good conscience allow you to take a maleficar to roam free in Ferelden."

Solona folded her arms over her chest. "Being a Grey Warden is hardly the chance to roam free. It is a lifetime commitment. Not only that, but there is a ritual which determines a recruit's fitness to be a Warden. There is a very good chance he might die during that ritual anyway."

"I'm sorry, my lady," Teagan apologized. "But the answer is still no."

The mage stood straight, lifted her chin higher, and pointed to Jowan who was cowering near the wall. "Then you leave me no choice, my lord. As Commander of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden, I hereby conscript this mage and take full responsibility for his actions while he is under my command."

"You can't do that, my lady," the bann argued.

Solona's lids narrowed as the hint of a smile played at the corners of her lips. "I just did, _my lord_."

* * *

After helping Miriana back to her cabin and gaining her reassurance she was feeling better, Garrett and Alistair wandered out onto the deck to allow the mage time to rest. The pirate walked to the portside railing to look out over the lake, and removed a pipe and a small pouch from his inside coat pocket. After filling the bowl, he used flint and steel to light the contents and gave the bit a few puffs to spread the embers within before taking a long draw and releasing it into the breeze.

Alistair wrinkled his nose with a sour expression, awaiting the smoke and the stench of burning tobacco leaf to waft in his direction. He hated that smell. When he was a child, Stablemaster Kenton was fond of using a pipe and was prone to blowing smoke in the boy's face while they worked, and it always made Alistair gag and choke.

When the wind picked up and changed direction, the smoke Garrett exhaled billowed over right into Alistair's eyes. He closed his lids and held his breath, hoping it would help keep him from coughing. Unfortunately, some of it got into his nose anyway, but for once, it didn't aggravate his senses. Upon inhaling a bit deeper, he realized, it wasn't tobacco he smelled, but something sweeter.

"What is that?" he asked.

The pirate shrugged. "Elfroot. Needed something to relax me after what we just saw." He held out his pouch in offering to the younger man. "You're welcome to have some of mine if you want."

"I've never had it before," Alistair admitted. "Truth be told, I've never smoked anything. My old stablemaster used to smoke tobacco, and it was disgusting. So, I never wanted to try it."

Garrett handed his pipe over to the prince. "Here, be my guest. It's a bit hard on the old lungs on the first couple of draws, but it gets easier. It'll help with your nerves. Trust me."

Alistair hesitated. The sisters in the monastery used to lecture about the evils of using elfroot in illicit ways, and only mages and heretics bound for the void would ever do such a thing. According to the sisters, with the exception of wine taken in small amounts with a meal, anything that altered the mind for recreational purposes would only serve to drive away the Maker from one's heart. It wasn't as if Alistair had never gotten drunk before. The Chantry dictated that smoking elfroot was worse, but he never understood how that was possible. How was it really any different?

"Alright," he finally agreed, taking the pipe from the pirate's grasp.

Ignoring Garrett's warning about the effect the first few draws would have on his lungs, Alistair placed his mouth on the bit and sucked in a deep breath. Right away, his throat began to burn and his lungs felt as if they had exploded. He grabbed the rail and began to choke and splutter, swearing to himself he was going to die. Tears flowed down his cheeks as his knees hit the deck and he continued to gag, trying to catch his breath. He felt a hand rubbing across his shoulders and looked up to see the captain standing above him shaking his head.

"I tried to warn you, mate," he said. "Did the same thing the first time. Of course, I was only twelve. Folly of youth, and all that." He pulled a silver flask from his hip and uncorked it before handing it over to the younger man. "Here, take a swig of this. It'll help clear your throat.

Without giving a thought to what might be inside, Alistair tipped the flask up and guzzled half the contents, then immediately began to choke again. The spiced rum only served to make the searing pain in his chest worse. He was seriously beginning to wonder if Garrett was attempting to kill him.

"Maker fuck!" Alistair managed after he was finally able to catch his breath. "And you do this shit to yourself on purpose?"

"It gets easier the more often you do it. Question is, are you feeling more relaxed now?"

The prince scowled until he realized, other than the burning sensation in his throat and chest, he was feeling much better. In fact, he hardly felt anything at all other than an overwhelming need to laugh. There was really nothing funny about the situation, but he began to chuckle, which soon turned into a barrage of uncontrollable giggles.

Garrett sat down on the deck next to him and began laughing along with the prince. "I suppose I forgot to warn you about that part."

"I guess you did," Alistair guffawed.

His sides were beginning to ache, but he couldn't stop. It was the best he had felt in a good long while, maybe ever. Everything else was forgotten in that moment. His duty to Ferelden and the Grey Wardens, his loneliness, his self-loathing. Right then, the only thing that mattered was leaning against that rail and laughing along with the first real male friend he ever had.

Unlike Cullen, whom he was thrown together with at the monastery upon the Knight Commander's insistence, Garrett was spending time with him of his own volition. There were plenty of other things the captain could have been doing just then, but, instead, he chose to remain in Alistair's company. No one had ever done that before, save Solona and Jenna, certainly no one of his own gender. Even Sithig never went out of his way to make conversation with the prince.

When their laughter finally died down, Garrett reached into his inner coat pocket and fished around until he produced a second pipe. "Here, mate" he offered. "I always keep an extra. It's yours if you want it."

Alistair's eyes welled up with tears as he took hold of the pipe. It was the first gift anyone had ever given to him in his life. Birthdays, Satinalias, for twenty years they all passed him by as all other days in his lonely life with no acknowledgement that he even existed most of the time. But now, without any occasion at all, this man, this pirate, offered him a small token that he never asked for. A deed born of simple kindness and comradery.

He ran his tongue across his lips and smiled. "Thanks…asshat."

"You're welcome," Garrett smirked before giving him a wink. "Jackass."


	38. Legend of the Stone

Solona spent a good deal of the next hour reassuring Jowan he was, indeed, safe from the Circle and the Guerrin family before making her way back to the ship with Irving, the other mages, and the templars in tow. There was much to be done before they departed for Honnleath, and there was little time left to waste if they planned to leave that afternoon.

The first thing the Warden needed to take care of was securing passage for those returning to Kinloch. Fortunately, because of the time she and Garrett had spent together over the previous few days, she knew that convincing him to return the mages and templars to the tower on his way out of Lake Calenhad should be a fairly simple task. Once that was accomplished, she would need to find the rest of her team in Redcliffe Village and gather supplies and horses for Miri, Jowan, Wynne, Cullen and herself while they were there. Solona absolutely refused to ride with Alistair again, not that it was a wholly unpleasant experience having him pressed against her, but the notion of being squeezed between him and that pommel was more than she could bear.

When she strode up the gangplank of the _Call_ , she was greeted by the sight of Alistair and Garrett leaning against the rail with glazed over eyes and goofy smiles on their faces. As she approached them, the unmistakable scent of burning elfroot lingering in the air left no doubt as to the reason for their behavior. She stood over Garrett, glaring at him with hands on her hips.

 _Why must I be the only adult around here?_

She realized she needed to ask a favor of the captain, but she was furious that she was the only one who seemed to be taking anything seriously. She cleared her throat, preparing herself to give both men the chiding she believed they deserved. It would do nothing to dissuade a pirate's improper behavior, of course, but it certainly would make her feel better. She just had to control her temper enough to ensure he would still perform the task she required of him. When Garrett peered up at her with a mischievous, sexy smirk, however, every ounce of belligerence within her deflated and she could do nothing but shake her head with a defeated sigh.

"Well, hello there, love," he drawled, his speech slightly slurred as he held up a silver flask. "Care for a bit of rum?"

Against her better judgement, Solona plopped down onto the deck next to him and leaned her back against the rail then pointed to the pipe in his other hand. "I'd rather have some of that, if it's all the same to you."

He flinched in surprise. "You smoke?"

She scowled as she grabbed the pipe from him. "Of course I smoke. I am a Circle mage, after all."

"Forgive me, love," he said. "But I don't know that much about Circle mages, truth be told."

"Alcohol is rarely allowed in the Circle, and only for the most senior enchanters unless apprentices or mages are bold enough to try to filch it. Elfroot, however, is fairly easy to come by, especially if you have a friend who's a healer. What else do we Circle mages have to do for fun but get high and have sex? Considering we don't get to leave to pursue other avenues of entertainment."

"That actually doesn't sound all that bad to me," the pirate joked. "Except the never being able to leave part. I don't think I could handle being stuck within the same four walls every day of my life."

Solona harrumphed. "Well, we didn't really have a choice, now did we?" She took a long draw from the pipe then handed it back to the captain before expelling the smoke from her lungs. "Speaking of the Circle, I was wondering if I could ask a small favor of you."

"Anything," he replied then waggled his eyebrows. "But if you're wanting to go back to my cabin, you'll have to give me a few minutes to pick myself up. My legs are a bit wobbly at the moment."

Considering how high the captain was, Solona wasn't certain he would be able to walk, let alone perform sexually. "As tempting as that offer is, Garrett, there's something else I require. I need to get the mages and templars back to the tower before the end of the week in order to fulfill my end of the bargain with Greagoir. The only way I can possibly do that is to get them there by ship."

"So you'll be needing the use of my lady again?" he asked.

"In a way," she replied. "I need to travel south to the village of Honnleath, and it's imperative that I get there as soon as possible." She traced a line down the exposed area of his chest and set her lips in an ever so slight pout. "So, I was wondering, since I'm sure you'll be heading north to return to the sea anyway, if you wouldn't mind too terribly much to return them to Kinloch for me?"

Garrett took her hand and lightly kissed her fingertip. "I would be happy to, love, but I'm afraid I'm not going that way." When Solona's brows knitted together in disappointment, he smiled. "I'm heading south. Martinez, however, would be happy to grant you that favor as soon as I tell him to."

The mage's head tilted to the left with a confused expression. He was heading south. Did he mean to travel with them?

"South?"

"If you don't mind me tagging along, that is. I hope you didn't think it would be that easy to get rid of me."

He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers in a long, soft kiss then pulled away to stare into her eyes, his lips curled into a lopsided grin. The effect was mesmerizing as Solona became completely lost in his aquamarine gaze.

"I'm not _quite_ ready to give up my distraction yet," he told her. "The past few days have been absolutely amazing. I'm just hoping you agree."

Solona's stomach fluttered with a thousand butterflies. In that moment, she came to the realization that, try as she might to resist, she had fallen in love with Garrett. Just like Anders, he would never love her back, of course. He made that perfectly clear from the beginning. She knew it would end in disaster, that he would only break her heart in the end, but she was powerless to stop it.

 _But you're already in love with one man you can't have. You love Alistair, remember? Don't you?_

She peered over at her fellow Warden, propped up against the rail with hazel-green eyes glassed over between drooping lids staring slack-jawed at the thick grey clouds above. He rolled his head to the right and grinned at her with the dopiest grin she had ever seen in her life. His broad chest shook with a small chuckle before rising and falling with a contented sigh, and Solona's heart began to thunder at the sight. There was no question, no doubt in her mind, she was in love with Alistair too.

 _But how is that even possible? How in the Maker's name can you love two men this deeply at the same time?_

She thought of Anders, how much she had loved him, how many years he held her heart, how he still did and always would.

 _You still loved Anders when you fell in love with Alistair. Is it really that much of a stretch that you love Garrett as well? But isn't that wrong? Don't you have to choose?_

Solona's guts churned at that notion. Regardless of her feelings for either of them, it would never be a choice she was forced to make. Neither would return those affections. She needed to force her feet back to the ground and return to reality. She had a job to do. There was no time for such ridiculously childish sentiment to get in the way. Her smile waned until her visage became devoid of all emotion, and her countenance was once again hidden by the guise of indifference.

"If you insist on coming along, I suggest you find a way to sober up quickly. I intend to depart Redcliffe in two hours."

* * *

Before heading out for the village to help Solona gather the supplies they needed for their trip to Honnleath, Garrett gave Martinez orders to prepare the _Call_ to set out for Kinloch and then Jader before coming back to Redcliffe. When that was done, he gathered the personal effects he required for the journey into a pack and left it next to the door to be easily retrieved when he returned from the village.

As he and Solona made their way down the winding path into Redcliffe, Garrett mulled over why he kissed the mage the way he had. At first, he tried to tell himself it was because he was a bit squiffy from the combination of rum and elfroot, but he knew it was a lie as soon as the thought crossed his mind. It was more than that. His fool heart was trying to steer his rudder in a direction he didn't want to sail. What started out as a distraction to get his mind off Miriana and keep his emotions in check was quickly becoming a predicament he didn't want or need.

Garrett watched Solona from the corner of his eye as she marched along next to him. Her expression was aloof, her face chiseled marble, delicately beautiful in its lines, but hard and cold. He had seen her let that guard down a time or two when he held her to his bare chest. Those moments when she favored him with a rare and genuine smile, her eyes resplendent with a kind of happiness and contentment she seldom permitted herself to feel. The fact that she allowed him to see that side of her only served to make his conflicting emotions that much more difficult to endure.

 _Bugger me. I can't let this happen. Not again._

He had to do something, say something to take his mind off his fool heart's ridiculous obsession with getting broken again, but every time he looked in her direction, he found himself praying to the spirits he'd catch a glimpse of any sign that she was delighted to be in his company.

 _Get it together, Captain. Get your head out of the bloody clouds before you fall to your death._

Mercifully, Solona interrupted his self-torment when she placed her hand on his bicep, halted her forward progression, and spun on her heel to face him with a pensive frown. "What are you going to do with the Tevinter?"

"Care to elaborate on that, love?" he asked.

She folded her arms over her chest and shifted her weight to her right leg. "I mean, are you sending him away with your ship or are you leaving him here in Redcliffe? Or is it your intention to take him with us?"

Garrett shrugged. "I don't see where I really have a choice in the matter. I'm sure as the bloody void not going to let him get anywhere near my lady again. After what we saw, I won't subject my crew to that kind of danger. And I daresay, I can't maroon him here. These people have been through enough, wouldn't you say?"

"True," the mage agreed before heaving a sigh. "I suppose he'll just have to tag along, then. Maybe we can find out exactly what he is and find a way to destroy him."

"Your sister told me he's taken to strolling through her dreams. She also said the bastard's got more than one demon possessing him and some kind of stone in his gut."

Solona's brow furrowed, and her lids narrowed in deep concentration for several moments. "It can't be," she mumbled. "It's not possible."

"What's not possible?" the pirate queried.

"There you are!" a familiar voice cried out from the bottom of the hill they were crossing over. "I was beginning to worry."

It had been nearly two years since he last laid eyes on her, but there was no mistaking the flaming red hair of the woman running toward them. He had known Leliana since they were both twenty-two when she secured passage on his ship from Antiva to Orlais. That first time, she attempted to pay her fare by trading sexual favors, but Garrett refused the offer. Instead, he bargained for trade contacts in lieu of coin, which ended up being more profitable for him than what he would have charged her anyway.

Although he always found the bard attractive, their friendship never developed into a sexual relationship. At the time they met, Garrett had just become involved with Maggie and vowed to remain faithful to her. Even so, each time Leliana was aboard the ship, she spent nearly every moment in Garrett's cabin, playing wicked grace, drinking, and engaging in long conversation. That didn't keep the rumors of a torrid affair between the captain and Leliana at bay as far as the crew of the _Call_ was concerned, however, and no one said a word to dissuade the scuttlebutt.

After Maggie broke off their engagement, Garrett was too broken and too bitter to begin a relationship with anyone. Because of that, he wasn't willing to take the chance of getting involved with Leliana just to lose her as a dear friend. It worried him when she disappeared for so long and none of her old contacts knew where she had gone, so the captain resolved himself to the notion that she was most likely dead.

When Leliana finally caught up to them, she stopped short, her blue eyes wide with shock. "Garrett?"

"Hello, love," he grinned. "It's been a long time. I figured you for dead. Nice to see I was wrong."

The redhead leapt at the pirate and threw her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his hips in a frantic body hug, giggling like a small girl. He squeezed her tight to his chest and kissed her cheek then extended a sideways glance at Solona, which was met with an angry glare.

"I take it you two know each other?" she questioned, her left brow raised with contempt.

Garrett set the bard's feet to the ground. "Aye, Leli and I are old friends, aren't we sweetheart? In fact, I believe you spent a good deal of time wearing some of her clothes when you were on my ship."

"No wonder they were so short," the mage scowled.

She was obviously angry about something, though Garrett had no idea why. Was it possible she was jealous? He quickly pushed that idea from his mind. Even if it were somehow true, it was one notion he didn't want to begin to entertain.

"Solona," Leliana began, oblivious to the other woman's irritation. "There's a man in the village asking about you. He's wearing Grey Warden armor."

The space between the mage's brows disappeared. "A Grey Warden?"

"Yes," the redhead nodded. "He nearly scared the life out of me when he tapped me on the shoulder and I turned around. I swear he's bigger than Sten. He said his name was…"

"Sithig," Solona beamed before sprinting off down the hill.

* * *

Sithig waited patiently by the Chantry door for the woman with flaming red hair to return. Of all the people in the village he could have questioned about Solona and Alistair's whereabouts, he wasn't really sure why he asked her. Perhaps it was the color of her hair that caught his eye and made her stand out among everyone else.

It was the same thing that drew him to his Kattrin the first time he saw her while he and his father were visiting a neighboring clan. While his sire bartered with the other chief, Sithig stood nearby scanning for threats. That was when he spied glints of copper reflecting the sun within thick waves of auburn, and when she turned he was greeted by the most beautiful sight he had ever witnessed. From that moment, from that very second, his heart belonged to her and no other, and he would do anything required of him to win her favor.

"Sithig!"

Solona's cry interrupted his musings, and he was grateful for the distraction. He was nearly floored when the typically somber mage embraced him in an uncharacteristically warm hug. What could have happened in the time they were apart to bring on such a change? Perhaps she and Alistair finally spoke the words they longed to say to each other, and it was love that gladdened her heart.

The Avvar skimmed the area behind her, but didn't see Alistair anywhere. Instead, he spotted a man dressed in black leather striding toward them with the redheaded woman at his side. Sithig pulled back from Solona's embrace and peered down at her with concern.

"But where is Alistair?"

"I left him back at the ship to ready our gear and help my sister pack."

"Sister?" the Avvar questioned with a bewildered expression.

Solona sighed. "It seems we have _a lot_ of catching up to do."

* * *

"Sorry, ser, there's not a horse to be had in all of Redcliffe Village after all the undead attacks. Even the ones the Grey Wardens brought were killed in the last fight. You might see if Master Dennet up at the castle has some available."

Garrett massaged his temples with the thumb and middle finger of his right hand. He volunteered to take Leliana and gather the supplies and horses they required while she escorted Sithig back to the ship to meet up with Alistair. So far, he had come up completely short. The local merchants' shelves were nearly bare, with only scant supplies that were of little to no use to the Grey Wardens and their companions. Even the packs of travel rations were gone. He did manage to procure the tents and bedrolls needed for himself and the other new members of the party, but, beyond that, there was nothing. Now, he was being told the horses were all gone too.

The captain was fairly certain the castle's stablemaster wouldn't part with any of the arl's mounts without asking permission first, and Garrett wasn't about to kiss that bastard Teagan's ass to get it. Stealing the horses was always an option, but he would be hard-pressed to get that many out of the stables, especially in daylight. Besides, Solona would most likely frown on that idea. She already pressed her luck once by conscripting her friend, Jowan, after what he had done. No need to completely sever the ties she desperately needed to fight the darkspawn if it wasn't necessary.

He regarded Leliana with a shrug. "Looks like we're shit out of luck on this end too, love."

"I suppose we are," she sighed. "It's a shame about our horses, though. I rather liked mine. I even gave her a name, Grace."

Garrett couldn't help but chuckle. It was just like Leliana. Although she was a bard, trained in the arts of subterfuge and murder, she still retained a soft spot for animals, children, the helpless, and the downtrodden. For her to hold onto that bit of innocence and consideration was refreshing for someone in her profession. Anyone else may have been shocked to learn she chose to join a small cloister as a lay sister when she decided to go into hiding, but it didn't really surprise Garrett. For all her skill, it still bothered Leliana when she was forced to kill anyone she felt didn't deserve it, and murder was always used as a last resort to complete a job if it could be helped at all.

The pirate returned his attention to the farrier. "Well, mate, if you can't help us out with the horses, could you at least point us in the right direction to get some supplies? The village merchants seem to be running short."

The man's brow furrowed in deep thought for several moments. "Actually, I did hear something about a couple of dwarves who set up a merchant's cart outside the village yesterday. Maybe they have what you're looking for."

Garrett tilted his head in a small bow before flipping a silver in the man's direction. "Thanks, mate. Appreciate your time."

"You are most welcome, my lord," the man grinned upon catching the coin. "Anytime."

Garrett and Leliana made their way to the village gate. Just beyond, they found a large wooden cart with an old ox hitched to its front and two dwarves sitting next to it, leaning against the front right wheel. Upon spotting the approaching humans, the older of the diminutive men scrambled to his feet with the other following suit a moment later. The elder dwarf greeted the strangers with a warm smile.

"Hello there, ser. Bodahn Feddic's the name." He pointed to the grinning dwarf standing at his side. "This is my boy, Sandal. I've got plenty of goods here if you're willing to take a look. Everything from food to dwarven relics. Anything you need."

"Hallo," his son greeted as he rocked back and forth from heel to toe.

The captain walked around to the side of the cart and scanned its contents. There was an array of items separated into small crates, apparently categorized by function. There was quite a bit of useless junk, but there were also a lot of things they could use on their journey, including open areas perfect for storing several packs, tents, and bedrolls."

"I can see you favor carrying a sword," the older dwarf observed. "If it's enchantments your looking for, my boy can fix you up with the best."

Sandal clapped his hands. "Enchantment!"

"He's a bit simple, my boy, but he's rather good at enchanting. A savant. That's what one of those tranquil fellows called him once. Though I'm not rightly sure what it means, but he seemed impressed by my boy's skill. "

Garrett scratched at the scruff of his chin as he considered Bodahn's claim.

 _Enchanted weapons fetch a fair amount of coin on the black market, especially if they're good quality. If I could snag a few at a cheap enough price, that may make up for some of the lyrium missing from the shipment._

The pirate chose a well-crafted longsword with a rune slot from the pile of weapons in the cart, spun it, and presented the handle to the young dwarf. "Show me what you have, mate."

Sandal laughed and jumped up and down excitedly as he grabbed the hilt. "Enchantment!"

"That's right my boy," Bodahn beamed as he lowered the tail board. "Show the man what you can do."

The younger dwarf clambered up onto the back of the wagon and dropped the sword on top of a crate of food then snatched a small box full of runes and began proudly displaying them to the pirate with a wide grin. "Enchantment!"

"How about a fire rune, then, mate?"

The boy's head bobbed up and down for a few seconds before he went to work. While attaching the rune, he held his tongue out on the left side of his mouth in deep concentration. In only a few minutes, he was presenting the blade with a triumphant grin.

"Enchantment!"

"May I?" the captain asked, holding out his hand.

When Sandal relinquished the weapon to him, Garrett turned the sword over a few times, marveling at the way the rune was set seamlessly in the metal. It was one of, if not, the best enchantments he had ever seen, especially given the short amount of time it took to finish. It would certainly be worth Garrett bartering for more if he could garner a fair price.

"How much?" he asked.

"Well," Bodahn replied, scrunching his face in thought. "With the price of the sword and the rune, plus my boy's time. I'd say, fifteen sovereign should do it."

Garrett mulled it over in his mind. That blade would fetch at least twenty-five gold on the market, probably more. If he could trade it to his contact for twenty, that would give him five for his own pocket. Not a lot, but there was still a chance he could cut a better deal with Bodahn.

"I tell you what, mate," he began. "My companions and I are heading south and without any horses available, it's going to be a right pain in the ass. So I find myself in need of a way to haul our gear other than on our backs. From what I can see, it looks like you've got some extra space in that wagon of yours. If you'd be willing, I'd like to hire you to travel along with us and carry our gear. I'd also like for you to make up nine more of these and I'll bring someone back with me to collect them when I return. For let's say, a hundred sixty?"

The older dwarf crossed his arms over his barrel chest and pursed his lips. "That's a mighty generous offer, ser, but with all the darkspawn about, especially in the south, it's a dangerous proposition. I couldn't do it for less than two hundred twenty-five."

Even though it was worth that amount to spare him the inconvenience, Garrett was accustomed enough to dealing with dwarves he knew better than to settle for the first counteroffer. "Did I mention that some of my traveling companions are Grey Wardens? You couldn't be in safer hands when traveling. One seventy."

Bodahn nodded and offered his hand. "One eighty and you got yourself a deal."

The pirate clasped the dwarf's wrist and shook. "Then we have an accord, mate." He untied the coin purse from his belt and tossed it to the other man. "A hundred now and the rest when I return."

"Me and my boy will have everything ready when you do," the dwarf promised.

* * *

Alistair didn't think he'd ever been happier to see anyone in his entire life than when he saw Sithig walking up the gangplank at Solona's side. He always knew the man was a mountain, but he had no idea how he managed to survive the battle at Ostagar. He didn't even look any worse the wear with the exception of a new minor scar on his cheek.

With tears in his eyes, the prince clasped the larger man's wrist then drew him in for a hug. "Damn, it's good to see you alive."

"It's good to see you as well, my friend," the Avvar said in his typical, gentle tone. "For a while, I thought I was the only one left. Solona tells me you've picked up some new companions along the way, including the younger of the witches. I met a few of the others in the village. The Qunari, in particular, is a most interesting man, as is the captain."

"Quite a team we've assembled, isn't it? A witch, a Qunari, a pirate, a couple of Circle mages, and a Chantry sister."

"There is something to be said for diversity, my friend," Sithig reminded him. "I'm sure each one brings something valuable to the cause, no matter what their background."

"Well, we've certainly done our best to provide variety," Alistair joked before turning his attention to Solona. "Where's everyone else?"

"Where's Garrett, you mean?" she teased.

Alistair groaned. She knew. Was his desire for the pirate really that obvious? He wondered if Garrett had realized it as well. Had Alistair's growing unnatural obsession been a topic of conversation between Solona and the captain on their trip to the village?

"Don't worry," his fellow Warden reassured him as if reading his thoughts. "I'm fairly certain he hasn't caught on yet, and I swear I won't be the one to tell him."

Sithig appeared confused. "I feel a little lost. Tell who what?"

"Never mind," Alistair told him, shaking his head. "It's not important. So where have you been all this time?"

"I spent a good deal of my time in the hut of a Chasind healer named Olga. She tended my wounds and cared for me until I was well enough for travel. After I left her, I came north looking for a sign the Wandering Witch told me I would find near Redcliffe." He reached into a pouch at his waist and pulled out a small lump of hardened clay with feet then handed the thing to Solona. "I almost forgot. I found this among a clearing off the road. It's yours, is it not?"

A small smile curled the corners of her lips. "It is. Thank you for returning it."

The loud bark of a mabari echoed from the dock as Harley came bounding up the gangplank. He ran straight toward Alistair and skid to a halt at his master's feet. His tongue dropped out of his mouth as he began to pant, anticipating a welcoming scratch behind his ears. Alistair happily accommodated the dog's wish by dropping to his knees and lightly digging his nails into the animal's fur.

"Hey, boy. I missed you."

"It's a fine beast," Sithig remarked. "Mabari are strong warriors favored by Hakkon."

Alistair's brows knitted together. Something the Avvar said had him vexed. "You said the Wandering Witch told you to come here?"

"Aye," the larger man answered. "She came to me in a vision."

As Sithig related the story of everything he went through during the battle and in its aftermath, Alistair began to seriously question if the man was even human or not. How was it possible that he survived any of that, let alone all of it?

"I am truly sorry for the loss of your kin, Alistair," he offered in apology. "Your brother was a valiant man."

"How did you know?" the prince asked. "That he was my brother, I mean?"

"He confided in me while we walked to the field of battle. He asked of me if he died and I yet lived, to tell you he was sorry he never got the chance to know you and to remind you that the blood of dragons flows through your veins, and that blood will give you strength as a king."

Alistair shook his head with a quiet and bitter chuckle. It was complete and utter bullshit. Cailan had to know where his brother was since their father's disappearance five years ago, and never once did Alistair receive a visit or even a letter from the man. If Cailan truly wanted to know him, there was opportunity there, he just didn't take it. His apology was nothing more than the final posturing of a dying king.

As for the dragon's blood, Alistair could only surmise it was something not passed on to him. There was no inner strength within him, nothing of any real value. The only thing that made him the future king of Ferelden was his name. Someday historians would look back with sympathy for the nation over the ruin he caused and the shame he invoked upon the crown and his family's legacy. The only hope Ferelden had of surviving his reign was if he could muster enough intelligence to appoint good advisors.

Harley tipped his head back and began to sniff before letting out a series of loud barks then taking off at a run toward the gangplank where Garrett was approaching with Leliana. The mabari halted in front of the pirate and began whimpering and wagging his tail. The captain knelt down in front of the dog and observed it through narrowed lids for a long moment until the man's shoulders slumped with a heavy sigh.

"Harley, my boy," he choked as he bent forward and nuzzled his cheek against the dog's head. "I guess it's just you and me left of the family now."

* * *

By the time they made it out of Redcliffe, there were only a few precious hours of daylight left to travel by. Since they were headed to his home village, Cullen volunteered to lead the procession south. Solona was appreciative for his aid, but she made sure their conversation regarding the journey remained strictly business and excused herself as soon as she was able. Cullen was already a bit unstable, and the last thing she wanted was to push him off the deep end by getting into personal matters.

She was unsure what to make of him or her emotions given their last meeting before she left the tower to join the Wardens. He had told her he loved her, the first man to ever utter those words to her. After all the months they had been apart, she wondered if he regretted that confession, if he ever meant it in the first place. As she walked, she absentmindedly rubbed her thumb across the tiny sword and flames etched into the pendant clutched within her fingers.

"Everything alright, then, love?" Garrett asked from her left. In her introspection, she hadn't even realized he was there.

She gave a curt nod. "Yes."

"I notice you hold onto that thing a lot," he observed, indicating to the amulet and then to Cullen. "I'm guessing it belonged to him? A token of affection?"

"Something like that," she admitted. "But I'd rather not talk about it. If it's all the same to you."

"Fair enough," he relented. "In that case, maybe you can finish what you were going to tell me back in the village before Leliana showed up. About our Tevinter friend?"

Solona's brow furrowed. With everything else going on, she had completely forgotten about Remus. She needed to talk to her sister, to get the full description of the stone Garrett mentioned. She only prayed to the Maker it wasn't what she suspected it might be.

"I need to talk to Miriana first to be certain," she replied. "I don't want to worry anyone needlessly until I do."

"Understandable, love. I'd do the same thing in your position."

The hint of a smile graced the corners of the mage's lips. She adored the way he called her love, even if he used that designation for every woman he met and didn't really mean anything by it. At least she could pretend, if only for a second…

 _What in the Maker's name are you thinking? Stop it!_

"Excuse me, Garrett," she said as she began to take longer strides forward.

She needed to talk to Miri, but more than that, she needed to put as much distance between herself and the pirate as possible. Chiding herself for allowing that small moment of weakness to overcome her, Solona hastened her steps. She only hoped her twin was willing to speak to her after their argument the previous day.

"Sister," she began in a whisper when she finally caught up to Miri. "Garrett told me about your troubles with Remus. I have a few questions in that regard."

The other woman shrugged. "Alright."

"He mentioned something about a stone?"

"Yes," her twin nodded, her eyes wide with fright. "He showed it to me in my dream. It was inside him."

"What did it look like? I need every detail you can remember."

The space between Miriana's brows disappeared. "It was black, possibly onyx or obsidian and about the size of a man's thumb. It had some kind of dark red runes etched all over its surface and it glowed crimson, like blood. And there were demons, I don't know how many, exactly. It looked like about a dozen. Each one had a different form, taking on the face of different humans and then disappearing."

Solona closed her eyes and released a heavy sigh. It was just as she feared. It had to be. There was no other explanation for the things her sister described. She indicated to the back of the procession where Garrett and Alistair were trudging along in front of the merchant's cart.

"Come on. They need to hear this too."

When they reached the back of the line, Solona called the pirate and her fellow Warden to gather around her. With a glance ahead to ensure Remus was far enough away not to hear, she began her explanation.

"I think I know what we're dealing with here. It's called a Legion Stone. It's something I came across in an ancient text in Irving's private library last year when I was doing research for a dissertation on demonology.

"Around the time of Andraste, a magister named Gaius Rex had created a device using blood sacrifices to bind four demons into it. Gaius found using the blood of kith and kin was more effective and could harness more powerful spirits after he killed his own daughter for the ritual. Unfortunately, when he attempted to utilize the accursed object, the demons assumed control of his body and he destroyed several small villages in his wake. Eventually, the magisterium was forced to work together to end the possessed man's reign of terror and lost a number of high ranking magisters in the process. The details of Gaius's research were locked away in a heavily warded vault beneath the Argent Spire, never to be touched again.

"I'm not sure how Remus came to be in possession of such a thing or how anyone was able to retrieve Gaius Rex's research, but it gets worse. Magister Rex's stone contained the power of four demons. Miri says there were closer to a dozen writhing around inside Remus. Do you have any clue what that means?"

Alistair waggled his head. "Yeah. It means we're fucked."

"Fortunately," Solona continued. "With the exception of that little outburst back at the castle, somehow, Remus seems to be maintaining at least some control over it. We just need to ensure that he remains calm for as long as we can until we find a way to destroy either that stone or him."

"Or both," Garrett put in. "I've got to tell you, knowing all this makes me wish we'd left his ass back in Redcliffe."

Solona placed her hand in the middle of the pirate's chest to stop him. "Don't you get it? He could destroy Denerim with little more than a thought if he wished to. Someone needs to talk to him. To find out his motivations and possibly what's stopping him from allowing the demons to take over completely."

"I'll do it," Miriana volunteered in a soft voice. "He trusts me."

"No," her twin refused. "You already have enough troubles of your own with possession, Sister. What is it exactly that resides within you?"

Miriana donned an apologetic expression. "It's a spirit of Faith. She's watched over me since I came into my magic."

"You mean you've been possessed this whole time?" Solona questioned. "Since you were a child?"

Miri shook her head. "No. She was with me then, not inside me. I didn't become possessed until I was on Garrett's ship, when the kraken attacked. She told me she would save everyone, but I had to agree to allow the possession."

"You mean you did that to save me and my crew?" Garrett asked, taking a step toward her. "Sweetheart, you shouldn't have done it. Not that I'm ungrateful for it, but..."

She peered up at him with doe eyes full of admiration. Full of…love. How did Solona not see it before? It was too late to save her sister from the heartache of falling in love with the wrong man. She was already under his spell.

"I couldn't let you die," Miri whispered. "I just couldn't."

Garrett's lips turned up in a wistful, half smile as he brushed a loosened tendril of sable hair away from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. "Thank you, love. I'm not sure I deserve such trouble, but thank you."

Solona felt like she had been punched in the gut when the pirate took a step back and cleared his throat. She wasn't sure if she was more upset that, at least in part, he returned her sister's affections and jealousy had reared its ugly head, or if it was due to the fact that he behaved with Miri exactly the way Anders had with her hundreds of times over the years, confusing her to the point of madness. Either way, her sister was going to get hurt. Garrett was going to break Miriana's heart and she was powerless to prevent it. To make matters worse, she felt a tiny crack in her own heart as well.

 _Men! The lot of them can go to the void._


	39. Fiddler's Green

As he set up his tent for the evening, Garrett did his level best to avoid eye contact with Miriana after she confessed to allowing Faith to possess her for the benefit of him and his crew. Back on the road, he almost slipped up and uttered words he swore he'd never say to a woman again. It wasn't true of course. It couldn't be. It was simply a temporary moment of weakness brought on by immense gratitude.

 _Keep telling yourself that, mate. I'm sure you'll convince yourself of it in time._

He had to get his mind off Miri, off both of them. At least Solona was setting up her own tent for the evening. He enjoyed her company and the sex was amazing, but given his earlier musings, a few days' break from her sharing his bed wasn't exactly an unwelcome change. At the same time, the notion of sleeping without her lying in his arms for even one night left an empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. How in the Maker's name had he gotten himself into such a conundrum?

 _Get it together, Captain._

In the distance, near the treeline, he spied Harley sniffing around the underbrush, a reminder of the family he'd lost. Although he knew it was most likely futile, part of him still held out hope that Fergus yet lived. All hope was lost, however, the moment his brother's mabari ran to greet him on the gangplank of his ship. That dog would have never left Fergus's side if he was alive. They were gone. The entire Cousland family had been rendered extinct, and Garrett didn't even get the chance to say goodbye. He swiped a knuckle across his lower lids.

 _That ruddy bastard will pay for it. When I catch up to him, Howe will wish he'd never been born._

The pirate hurried to finish his task. The silence put him in his own head too much. He needed a distraction from his thoughts, from his pain. He spotted Remus sitting alone watching Alistair help Miri put up her temporary shelter. Although she volunteered to be the one to speak to the Tevinter, in the end, Solona decided Garrett was best suited for the task.

He approached Remus with caution in his steps. Even though the man appeared relatively calm, his jealousy over Alistair's attention of Miriana was obvious. When he finally reached the Tevinter's side, the captain plopped down next to the man, which startled Remus from his introspection.

"Hello, there, mate. Got everything settled for the night, then?"

The Tevinter nodded. "I believe so, yes."

"It occurred to me while I was setting up my tent," Garrett began. "That we really haven't gotten the chance to become acquainted, you and I. I figure since we'll be traveling together for a while, now's as good a time as any."

Remus's brows knitted together with a bewildered smile. "Of course, Captain. What would you like to know?"

"Well, for starters, whereabouts in Tevinter are you from, mate?"

"I'm from Minrathous," he replied. "My father is a magister of the Imperium. I was being groomed to take his place, but I suppose that's all in the past now."

Garrett winced upon hearing the reply. Minrathous was the one place in Thedas he usually tried to forget existed because it always elicited memories of Maggie and the day she turned her back on him. He loved her, more than anything in the world. To find out she never felt the same, that she was just using him because she was a rebellious, bored rich girl who wanted to upset her parents by dating a pirate, it was too painful to think about.

"I used to travel there quite a bit in my younger days," said the pirate, avoiding eye contact with the man. "But it's been years since I've been back." He had to find a way to change the subject, to direct his thoughts away from Maggie. "What about your family? Anyone besides you and your old man, then?"

"Yes. I have a half-sister named Sarina who's four and a step mother who is a year younger than me. Her name is Margarette."

 _Bloody fuck! It can't be._

The captain swallowed against the wad of bile rising in his throat. "Margarette?"

"Yes, Margarette Cantius."

Garrett lids slammed shut as he fought the urge to vomit and calm his breathing. It was her, Maggie. Remus's father was the man she had left him for. His heart, never fully mended from the pain Maggie's betrayal left, began to crack and break anew. How in the bloody void could the spirits be so cruel?

"I know the lass," he whispered.

Remus shrugged. "I know. Before I ran from Tevinter, after I found out that my father survived, I took the chance of going back to the estate to say goodbye to Margarette and Sarina and try to explain what happened and the danger they might be in. Margarette told me to look for Captain Garrett Hawke, that he might be able to hide me, protect me from my father. She said I would most likely find you in Highever sooner or later, so I made my way there."

Anger began to well up inside Garrett. How dare she? Not only had she broken his heart, but now she had put his life in danger to boot. Wasn't shattering his soul and killing any faith he had in the possibility of love's existence enough for her? And to top it off, she had a daughter, with _him_ , apparently getting pregnant within a year of destroying Garrett's child.

He covered his mouth with his left hand and stared out into nothingness. It was just too much. All of it. His vision was caught by the sight of Alistair playfully goosing Solona from behind then rolling his eyes innocently skyward when she turned around. Over the last few days of watching the two of them together, it was obvious they were in love with each other, though both were either too stubborn or too ignorant of the other's feelings to make that confession.

Perhaps if he worked on them for a few days, he could turn Solona's attentions to her fellow Warden and away from him. That only left Miri. Sithig seemed a nice enough bloke and he was soft spoken, the same as her. Maybe Garrett could play matchmaker between the two of them as well. If she was with another man, especially one as large as the Avvar, it would insure the captain would never risk the attempt of winning her affections against his better judgement.

"Are you alright, Captain?" Remus asked, drawing the pirate from his scheming ruminations.

"Fine, mate," he replied with a painted on smirk. "The fiddlers green."

He had no idea what he was supposed to do with the information he just learned. Other than the fact that Remus had killed his father, everything else the Tevinter told Garrett was deeply personal to him. Too personal to discuss with anyone else, anyway. He didn't know how to acquire the answers Solona was looking for. She simply told the pirate to use his best judgement. Right at that moment, his best judgement was to get away and utilize his flasks and pipe until he passed out for the evening. If Solona wanted answers she could bloody well get them herself. Either way, the stinging in his eyes told him he needed to remove himself from Remus's company as soon as possible.

He spotted Wynne watching them intently from atop a nearby fallen tree. It wasn't a good excuse by any stretch of the imagination, but it was the best one he had at the moment. He returned his attention to the Tevinter.

"Looks like the senior mage of the group wants to have a word with me. We'll pick this up later, if that's alright with you, then, mate."

"Of course, Captain," the other man said with a small nod. "I've enjoyed our conversation."

"As have I, mate," the pirate lied as he rose to his feet. "Have a good night, then."

"You as well," Remus answered back, but Garrett was already on his way to Wynne before the sentence was finished.

He ambled over to the enchanter then donned the most winning smile he could muster. "Mind if I have a seat, then, love?"

She gestured to the open area next to her. "Be my guest, Captain. I was hoping you and I would get the chance to speak one on one." When Garrett sat down next to her, Wynne turned her knees to his and smiled. "So, did you learn anything interesting from our Tevinter companion?"

"Nothing I want to talk about, love," the pirate replied with a shake of his head.

"No clue about the demons possessing him, or how he managed to wield so much power back in Redcliffe?"

Garrett's brow furrowed. "I thought the four of us were the only ones able to recall that."

The mage chuckled. "That would be true if I hadn't had my own protection. I've tried to steer clear of young Miriana, so as not to alert her or the spirit inside her of my own condition."

"Come again, love? You've lost me."

"Like your friend, I too have a spirit of Faith inside me, though I'm sure the circumstances of my own possession are much different than hers. Back in the tower, an abomination nearly killed someone very dear to me and I used every bit of mana I possessed to prevent his death. Unfortunately, when mages overextend their mana too far, it kills them. I died saving his life. A spirit of Faith, one that has been with me since childhood, decided it was not quite my time to leave this world. My life is now sustained by her."

Garrett scratched at the scruff on his cheek. "Miri said the same thing, about the spirit being with her since she was a wee lass. I didn't know such things were possible."

"There are a lot of unknowns when it comes to magic," the enchanter said, her smile slightly condescending. "I daresay, being a pirate, you probably know less than most."

He shrugged. "You wouldn't be wrong, there, love. Not too many mages on a ship, other than the occasional runaway, and they don't typically like to talk much."

"It's understandable."

"You said you gave your life to save someone dear to you?" he questioned. "I take it they lived?"

"Yes, he's alive. When I came to, I saw him running toward the entrance chamber. He seemed to be injured, but he apparently made it off the grounds. I looked for his body on our way out, but I didn't see it. But, I suppose Anders has always been resourceful."

"Anders?" the pirate spat.

Solona hadn't said a lot about him, but the expression she wore when she did spoke volumes about the man's character. How would she react when she found out he was still alive? Would it break her knowing the man she loved yet lived and any healing she had done over the knowledge of his death would be forfeit? Should Garrett even tell her about it?

"You have to swear to me that you won't tell Solona he's still alive," the enchanter demanded. "She can never know. She is much better off believing he's dead."

"I won't breathe a word, love," the pirate vowed.

He felt a bit dirty for it, but knew it was for the best in the long run. And it wasn't exactly like he was lying to the lass. He was just neglecting to reveal a secret.

"But…I don't want to discuss Anders or my own troubles any longer. We need to discuss Miriana's. There are a few very important things you need to know about spirits of the Fade."

The captain tilted his head with a slight bow. "I'm all ears, love."

"First of all, each Fade spirit represents a virtue. Faith is just one of them. There are also spirits of Love, Hope, Valor, Justice, and Compassion, among others. Their singular purpose is to uphold the ideals of those virtues they embody. Demons are merely spirits whose purpose has been corrupted. For example, a spirit of Love can be twisted into a demon of Desire when it confuses carnal pleasures for true and lasting intimacy."

"I know some people like that," Garrett joked.

Wynne heaved a wistful sigh. "As do I, unfortunately. Anyway, the reason you need to know this is so you can ensure the spirit inside Miriana doesn't become twisted. Faith is a very powerful spirit. One of the most powerful in creation, but if Miriana ever loses her faith, truly loses it, it could corrupt the spirit inside her, turning it into a demon of Despair. You must understand how vital it is that you keep a close watch on her and do everything in your power not to allow her to lose her faith. I have watched her, and she is in more danger than you realize. She is a very lonely young woman, struggling with her emotions and, I daresay, her feelings for you."

The pirate waggled his head with a disbelieving chuckle. "I think you've got your signals crossed there, love. The lass has no want for me. It's a ruddy pirate named Gerard she's got eyes for."

"I think you would be surprised, Captain," the enchanter countered. "Either way, she trusts you and has opened up to you in a way she hasn't to anyone else here. It is up to you to protect her, especially from her sister's, at times, uncouth behavior. I have known Solona many years, since she was but a small girl, and she can be very cruel at times."

Garrett couldn't believe what he was hearing. He needed to stay away from Miriana, not get closer to her. Now he was being tasked with protecting her? He didn't even know how to begin to do such a thing. How was he supposed to help her keep her faith when he had none himself?

"Speaking of Solona," the elder woman continued. "There is something important you need to do for her, as well."

The pirate's irritation was nearing its breaking point. "And what might that be?"

"You need to keep her and Alistair apart. They are Grey Wardens in the midst of a Blight. Love is a distraction neither of them need, but for both of them to fall under its illusion could spell disaster for Thedas. More importantly, however, is the fact that she is a mage and he is the future king. Mages are not allowed to sit in positions of power. They are barely allowed to leave the confines of the Circle. The Chantry will never allow a union between those two. A relationship could only lead to heartbreak for both of them. As much as Solona loathes me, and, as much as she is disinclined to believe it, as one of my former students, I do care about what happens to her. I've seen her suffer heartache time and again because of one man. I'm not prepared to see it again."

The captain waggled his head. "Anders."

"She told you all about him, then? Surprising."

"Not really," Garrett replied. "But he's been mentioned, and I recognize the look when he is."

"One you seem to know yourself, if I'm any judge of faces." She placed her hand on his cheek with a pensive smile. "Speaking of faces, you look just like him, you know?"

The pirate scowled. "Just like who?"

"Your father."

Garrett's eyes went wide with those two words. Though he wondered throughout his youth who his parents were, what they were like, he never received one answer to those questions. He knew nothing about his birth family, save the assumption that's where he got his name.

"You know my father?" he breathed.

"I knew him, yes, a very long time ago when he was at Kinloch."

"My father's a mage, then?"

She nodded. "The finest healer I ever met, with the exception of Anders. We grew up together from childhood, and he was actually my first lover, though we were never in love. A very dear friend, Malcolm."

"Malcolm's my middle name," the captain admitted, the lines in his forehead deepening.

"It doesn't surprise me. Using a father's name as his first born son's middle name is an old tradition in Ferelden. He was twenty-six when he escaped the tower using a potion he managed to add to the templars' food. It was an absolutely brilliant plan he devised. I never knew what happened to him, but I suppose he at least survived long enough outside the Circle to father one child."

Garrett was reeling from everything he learned that day…Fergus's demise, Maggie's family, the one that should have been his, the identity of his father. It was simply too much for him to bear. Though he was glad to finally know something about Malcolm Hawke, he was just too overwhelmed by it all. He had a million questions for Wynne, but he just couldn't bring himself to ask any at that moment.

"Thank you, love," he told her as tears began to form in his eyes. "Can't tell you how much I appreciate you telling me about my father, but it's been a demon of a day, and I'm a bit worn out from it all. Perhaps we can speak more on it later?"

She smiled, a genuine and heartfelt affect. "It would be an honor to tell Malcolm's son all about him and his antics."

Garrett took her hand and lightly kissed her knuckles. "I look forward to it, then, love."

* * *

Alistair had just finished putting the final touches on Miriana's tent when he spotted Garrett walk across the camp, stop at a tall oak at the woodline, and slide his back down it to settle at the bottom. The pirate removed the flask from his belt, uncorked it to guzzle down its contents, then toss it to the side to retrieve a second. The prince had seen him speaking with Remus and Wynne. What could either of them had said to warrant such a reaction?

Without informing Solona or Miri of his plans, Alistair retrieved the pouch of elfroot Garrett gave him from his pack and made his way over to the captain. As he approached, he noticed the kohl from the pirate's lower lids was smudged and running, and his eyes glistened against the light of the roaring campfire.

Alistair didn't speak a word. He simply sat down next to Garrett, filled his pouch, and lit the contents of the bowl with flint and steel. The captain threw his second flask on the ground then followed the prince's lead by removing his own pipe and pouch from his inner pocket. Within moments, the two men were sitting in silence and blowing billows of smoke into the wind. Through slightly hazy vision, Alistair finally rolled his head to the side to look at Garrett's face.

"Are you alright, there, asshat?" he asked.

Garrett took a long draw from his pipe, held his breath a moment, then slowly released the smoke into the air. He sank into the tree at his back and closed his eyes as his chest rose and fell with a deep and heavy sigh. After another long moment, he turned his head and opened his lids to reveal bloodshot, aquamarine eyes shimmering with tears.

"Fiddlers green," he replied in a raspy, slurred voice. "And how about you, jackass?"

At first, Alistair didn't know what to say. He had no clue what "Fiddlers green" meant, but by the expression on Garrett's face, it didn't seem to be a good thing. Seeing the usually bold and confident captain in such a state was absolutely disheartening. He had to think of something, do or say something to help ease whatever burden it was that caused the pirate so much pain.

"Oh, you know," he began with a shrug. "The bats are buzzing around the trees, the mosquitos are doing a void of a job relieving me of all my blood, and the darkspawn are roaming the countryside. I'd say everything's about perfect wouldn't you? Couldn't get any better than this. You know, unless a great bear jumped out of the trees and mauled us to death."

Garrett's brow raised in a dumbfounded expression before shaking his head with a chuckle. "There is seriously something wrong with you, mate."

Alistair grimaced thoughtfully. "People keep telling me that. I can't understand why. Solona says it all the time." He shrugged. "I just don't see it personally. You should have seen her face when I told her why a pear would make a perfect weapon. She looked at me like I was mad."

"A pear?" Garrett questioned, his brows pleated in confusion.

As Alistair explained his theory of utilizing the fruit as an effective deterrent against bandits, the pirate began to laugh and Alistair along with him. By the time the Warden finished his anecdote, Garrett's somber mood, while not gone completely, had waned considerably. When their laughter died down, the captain rewarded the prince with a sexy, uneven smile.

"Thanks, mate. You're completely insane, but I do appreciate you lightening the mood a bit." He glanced over the ground around his feet to observe the flasks he had emptied earlier. "The damn rum's gone, though. That's certainly not going to help my disposition any."

The prince rose to his feet. "Bodahn's got some bottles on his cart. I can go get a couple if you like."

"Sounds perfect, mate." When Alistair continued just standing there with a worried grimace then licked his lips, the pirate raised his left brow. "Waiting for an engraved invitation, then, jackass?"

The younger man shrugged his right shoulder with a sheepish grin. "I'm kind of…tapped out at the moment. Nobody actually pays us to be Grey Wardens, and I spent my last bit of coin on silk stockings before Ostagar."

Garrett shook his head as he reached for the coin pouch at his waist and uncinched it before tossing it to Alistair. "The longer I know you, the more I seriously begin to question your sanity."

Alistair never considered the possibility that the pirate may have thought he bought the stockings for himself. He groaned inwardly.

"They weren't for me," the prince explained.

The other man held out his hands in front of him. "Not my business, mate. What you do in the privacy of your own tent is entirely up to you. The only thing I care about at the moment is pickling my guts a bit more before I sober up too much to enjoy it."

"Alright, I can take a hint. I'll be right back."

Alistair had smoked enough elfroot already to make navigating the camp more difficult than it should have been. He nearly knocked over Miriana's tent in the process. Luckily, she was busy talking to Wynne and Solona was too engaged in conversation with Jowan for either woman to notice. Upon reaching the wagon, he requested two bottles of spiced rum and one bottle of whiskey and hoped Bodahn was honest enough to give him the correct change for whatever coin he handed over to the dwarf. The last thing he wanted was for Garrett to think he tried to cheat him.

When Alistair returned to the treeline several minutes later, Garrett looked to be sleeping, but opened one eye to peer up at the prince when a twig snapped beneath his boot. "You're definitely not the stealthiest bloke, are you, mate?" he teased. "A herd of wild bronto makes less noise than you."

"I blame the armor. Though, I gotta tell you, the elfroot isn't helping any." He handed over the bottles of rum, prompting a grin from the pirate, then the coin pouch.

The captain waved it away, uncorked one of the bottles and took a healthy swig. "Keep it, mate. I've got plenty more. No man should travel around without at least _some_ coin in his purse."

Alistair flinched at that suggestion. He may have been higher than Aunt Fanny's garters, but he had enough of his senses about him to realize there was a good deal of coin in that pouch. Was piracy really such a lucrative career choice?

His eyes trailed down the other man's form. His clothing consisted of fine leathers and expensive silks, and heavy silver rings inlaid with precious and rare stones adorned nearly every finger. Was the jewelry he wore all stolen? Did the coin he threw around come to him as a result of overtaking some innocent merchant ship? Or was the man simply that business savvy? If it was the latter, the captain could be a great asset to Ferelden after the Blight in helping to find a way to pay for the rebuilding that would be needed.

 _What are you thinking, jackass? Why would a pirate, especially one as successful as he obviously is, consider working for you?_

The prince shook his head. "As much as I appreciate the offer, I don't want your money, Garrett. It would feel too much like taking advantage of a friend given your present condition."

 _Damn, that sounded stupid. You really think he considers you a friend? He's only here for Solona and Miri. You just happen to be along for the ride. Like an annoying kid brother._

The captain smiled, a genuine affect that prompted Alistair to believe his words may have actually meant something to the other man. "Call it a loan, then, mate. When you get that crown on your head and settled into your big comfy chair, you can pay me back." He winked. "With interest, of course."

"Of course," Alistair laughed as he returned to his place on the ground next to the pirate.

He uncorked the whiskey bottle then took a drink, recoiling from the disgusting flavor and burn of the pale amber liquid. He hated the taste of the stuff, but he wanted to make sure any rum on the cart was reserved for Garrett. They were days out of Honnleath and Bodahn had a limited supply of the pirate's favored spirits. At the rate Garrett was drinking, the dwarf would most likely run out of rum before they reached their destination anyway. There was no need for Alistair to aid in its depletion.

After another drink and a draw from his relit pipe, the young warrior returned his attention to the man at his side. Garrett's heavy brows were furrowed in deep, troubled thought as he stared out across the camp, but lost in his own head. It was a look and a feeling Alistair knew all too well. He recalled the pain in the pirate's eyes when he greeted Harley back at the docks and the memory of Garrett and Fergus together at the castle stables when he was a boy.

"You and Fergus Cousland must have been pretty close," he observed. "I'm sorry for your loss."

The other man exhaled a resonant sigh. "He was my brother. Not by blood, of course, but my brother just the same. We grew up together since we were five. When my dad would travel to Orlais, he'd always leave me with the Couslands, sometimes for months at a stretch. They were my family." He indicated to Miriana who was sitting alone by the fire. "That's how I met Miri."

Alistair listened quietly as Garrett recounted the story of everything that happened in Highever up to the point they met at Kinloch. By the time the captain finished his tale, the prince's cheeks were stained with tears. Although Cailan informed him about the murders, nothing prepared Alistair for the gruesome reality of how the family and their entire staff had been brutally and mercilessly slaughtered.

"Do you think Jenna managed to escape?" Alistair questioned when Garrett went silent again.

"I don't see how," he replied. "The tunnel was blocked by Bryce's body."

"She broke my nose when I was ten," the prince confessed. "It never did heal properly."

"So that explains your ability to sniff around corners," the pirate said, pushing the end of his nose to the right with the tip of his finger. "Get a little fresh, then?"

Alistair's lips curved into a wistful smile. "You could say that. I tried to kiss her and she punched me."

Garrett laughed. "She gave me a black eye once for the same thing when she was thirteen, and I only posed the question. Always a feisty lass, Jenna."

"She was. She used to spend most of her time on their visits to Redcliffe kicking my ass, but she never managed to break anything before that day. Probably because I was cowering behind my own arms most of the time when she was doling out a thrashing."

The captain's brows knitted together. "I went to Redcliffe once with the Couslands, I don't ever recall seeing you in the keep. I didn't even know King Maric had a second son until you told me."

"That's because they kept my existence a secret," Alistair began before delving into his own sad tale.

Garrett extended the same courteous silence to the prince that he had afforded. There were no tears shed during the telling, but Alistair did notice the captain's eyes glistened brighter at the end of the story. At first, the prince thought the reaction was born of pity, and, perhaps, it was in part. But there was something more than that. There was a real, unmistakable connection between them. Both of them were abandoned when they were babies, both left to wonder what was so bad or wrong about them to make their parents feel the need to throw them away. Perhaps the pirate recognized himself in Alistair and what his fate may have been had the old ship's captain decided not to keep him.

That's when Alistair realized what had first been an unyielding sexual attraction was developing into something more. Even though he knew his affections would forever remain unrequited, he was falling in love with Garrett, just as deeply as he had Solona, maybe even more so. He inhaled a deep breath then slowly released it as he stared into the other man's green-blue eyes, praying the captain would mistake his longing and admiration for the aftereffect of entirely too much alcohol and elfroot.

"I think I remember you, mate," Garrett proclaimed. "Were you the little runt that I..?"

"Threw into the shit filled pile of hay? Yes, that was me."

The pirate chuckled. "You were an annoying little shit, you know that, right?"

"And you were a right git," Alistair retorted. "Thankfully, it appears we both grew out of it."

Garrett jabbed an elbow into the prince's bicep with a smirk. "No, you're still an annoying little shit, but at least you appear to bathe on a fairly regular basis now."


	40. Caving In

Solona lay awake in her bedroll listening to the sounds of the camp outside her tent to ensure everyone had turned in for the evening. Garrett and Alistair's drunken chattering as they headed to their own shelters seemed to be the dying breath of all noise aside from the crackling and popping of the fire. Sithig was on first watch for the night, and Solona knew the Avvar would keep both his observations and his thoughts to himself unless there was an emergency.

The mage realized the pretense of setting up her own tent was just plain silly, but she felt the need to maintain a certain amount of decorum for the sake of those who followed her. Given his erratic behavior since they found him in the tower, Solona was especially concerned with Cullen's feelings. She was unsure if he was aware that she and Garrett had been sharing a bed on the ship, but she saw no need to throw that fact in the templar's face.

While they set up camp and throughout supper, Solona caught Cullen watching her with a wistful expression. After they finished their meal, he even approached her once but sidestepped and turned in a different direction without a word. It was obvious he wanted to speak to her, but, so far, he hadn't worked up the nerve to do so since their departure from Redcliffe Castle.

It was a relief, in a way, since she had no clue what she would say to him when he finally did. She cared about him enough not to want to hurt him. Although they really didn't know each other, in some small way, the templar had become a very important part of Solona's life through the amulet he gave to her. Since leaving the tower, it had become her center, her focus when her emotions began to get the better of her. Cullen had become her rock without even knowing it, but she didn't love him. How could she? They had barely spoken more than a handful of times in the year he was stationed at Kinloch. Perhaps if they had more time together, truly together, things might have been different. As it stood, however, the kissed they shared in the tower was as far as she was willing to take things with him. Even if she were inclined to entertain the notion that he actually meant the words he spoke, too much had happened since, and they were far too different for anything to ever come of it.

Solona waited a few minutes more to ensure there was no one else prowling around outside, threw her heavy wool blanket around her shoulders, then crawled her way out of her shelter. Quietly, she crept across the encampment, making sure to stick to the shadows as much as she could. As she went, she wondered what the pirate would say when she showed up at his tent. He hadn't asked her to join him. In fact, he seemed to be attempting to avoid her since they left the ship.

 _Just like Anders._

She stopped mid-step, clutched the amulet at her chest, and closed her eyes. What was she doing? Was she really so willing to go through that kind of heartbreak again? To throw herself at a man who had no desire for anything other than a few trysts before returning to a life at sea?

She drew a deep breath to calm her nerves. She was being ridiculous. Of course Garrett had no desire for anything more. He made that abundantly clear from the start, as did she. There could never be anything real between them. That's what made him safe.

Maybe what she needed was a few nights apart from the captain, to give her foolish heart time to catch up with her mind. Garrett was a distraction, simple as that. Just an amusing way to pass the time and allow her a moment's diversion from her duty as a Grey Warden. It wasn't as if she needed to spend time with him. She could take or leave his company as often or as little as she pleased.

With a renewed sense of will, the mage turned to head back to her tent. That's when she spotted Cullen pacing back and forth near the flap. He appeared to be mumbling to himself as he wore tracks in the dirt and anxiously fiddled with strings at the neck of his untied shirt. As much as she realized she and the templar needed to have a conversation, Solona wasn't quite ready to face him at that moment.

Fortunately, Cullen hadn't seemed to notice her yet, so she quickly and quietly closed the remainder of the distance to Garrett's tent and slipped inside. When she entered, Solona found the pirate lying back, shirtless, lids half closed, with his right forearm resting on top of his head. He greeted her with a drunken smirk.

"Well, hello there, love. Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"

The sensation of a hundred butterflies flitting around in her stomach broke nearly every ounce of will Solona had mustered just moments before. He was so utterly sexy and absolutely gorgeous, and she wanted him more than ever. Still, she had to try to resist. If she stayed with him that night, she knew in her heart there would be no going back from the emotions she was trying so desperately hard to resist.

She donned her mask of indifference, as best she could at that moment, anyway. "I'm sorry to disturb you, Garrett. I was just out for a walk and returning to my tent when I found Cullen standing next to it. I'd rather not get into a conversation with him tonight, if it can be helped. So I ducked in here to avoid him."

"So you're not planning to stay, then?" he questioned with an arch of his brow. "Shame, really. It's been a demon of a day. I could really use the distraction." Solona's breath caught in her throat when he held out his hand for her. "Come one, love. Don't leave an old pirate lonely on a night like this. Stay with me."

 _Don't do this. You know you'll regret it._

She inched toward him then stopped and rocked back to settle her bottom on her heels. "I…" she hesitated.

He sat up and wrapped his fingers around hers, his brows pleated in a forlorn expression. "Please."

 _Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! It's not too late. Just turn around and leave. Tell him no. Scream it if you have to._

What she intended to be a denial became a nod of assent, and when Garrett pulled her in for a long, slow kiss, she melted against him. His hand moved from hers to her cheek, the flat of his calloused thumb softly caressing her tender flesh as he urged her down onto his bare chest. He pushed the blanket from her shoulders then slid his hand to the hem of the linen shirt she wore for a shift. Slowly, he trailed his fingers up her side to cup her breast beneath her top.

Solona tore herself away long enough to remove the garment then captured his lower lip in her teeth with a gentle nip. Garrett entangled his fingers in her hair then flipped her over onto her back and gazed deeply into her eyes.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered before pressing his forehead to hers. "If it's alright with you, love, I'd like to take it a bit slower than usual this time."

It was exactly what Solona wanted, almost as if he had somehow read her mind. There was no turning back now, no way out. She was in love with him, and although he didn't feel the same, at least she could pretend for one night that he did.

"That would be perfect," she breathed in reply.

He swallowed then let out a protracted sigh as his lips curved into a satisfied smile. Without another word, he wrapped his arms tightly around her, cradling the back of her head in his hand, then slowly lowered his mouth to linger against hers in a gentle kiss. As she savored the feel of his lips brushing hers, he pushed his hips forward and entered her, gradually and deliberately. Once he was buried deep within, Solona reveled in the sensation of every inch of his cock as he continued to feather tender kisses upon her lips.

Solona had no idea how much time they spent pleasuring each other at such a languid pace, and she didn't care. Time held no meaning for her. In his arms, the outside world didn't exist. The only thing that mattered was him, his kiss, his touch. His lips trailed across her cheek to her ear.

"Dear Spirits help me," he panted in prayer before squeezing his arms tighter around her and groaning in pleasure as his climax overtook him.

The moment he found his release, Solona's own orgasm began to wash over her like a tidal wave. She didn't have time or the chance to lend any weight to his words or what they could have possibly meant. It took every measure of strength she had not to utter the words she longed to say to him. Somehow, she managed to keep them to herself, but it was one of the most difficult things she had ever done.

Completely spent, Garrett rolled over onto his back next to Solona and pulled her to his chest then bestowed her lips with one final, lingering kiss. He smiled at her, his face relaxed in happy exhaustion.

"You are amazing, love. Absolutely amazing. The perfect ending to an otherwise completely fucked up day. Thank you."

"You're welcome," she told him with a smile of her own, though hers was more wistful than his had been.

He bid her a goodnight, then promptly fell asleep with his scruffy cheek pressed to the top of her head. When he began to snore, softly and quietly, Solona traced the valley of his chest with the tip of her finger and thoughtfully chewed her lower lip. After a long moment, she nuzzled the side of her face against his shoulder and heaved a forlorn sigh.

"I love you," she whispered, all the while silently begging the stars that there was no chance Garrett heard her confession.

* * *

Garrett squinted against the harsh light of the first rays of dawn as he emerged from his tent. His head was pounding like the void as he stumbled toward the fire where Bodahn was busy making breakfast for the camp. When he reached the fallen log next to the pit, he plopped down next to Alistair into the dirt in front of it and flopped back onto the wood with a groan.

"How're you feeling, jackass?" he questioned, the echoing of his own raspy voice making him wince.

The prince grimaced. "There's no need to shout, is there?"

As much as it pained him to do it, Garrett chose to let the opportunity to get a good jab in at his new friend pass him by. The idea of hearing his own voice again, of moving, was just too painful to think about. It was too painful to think, period. Instead, the pirate closed his lids and prayed to the spirits for relief or a quick death, whichever they chose. At that point, it simply didn't matter to him anymore.

A quiet cough from the vicinity of somewhere above interrupted Garrett's hopes for a hasty end to his self-induced suffering. He slowly opened one lid enough for Wynne to be discerned in the fog of his hazy vision. His brows pleated together as he struggled to swallow past the taste of shit in his mouth and the sand on his tongue.

"Something I can do for you, love?" he mumbled.

The enchanter shook her head with a scolding expression and a heavy sigh. "I ought to just let you two suffer after such wretched behavior, but I have a feeling we may need you at your best today."

Without asking his permission, she knelt down next to the pirate and covered his forehead with her palm. Garrett considered protesting at first, but it would have taken more effort than he was willing to commit. His head began to tingle, as his mind was overtaken by a slight buzzing sensation that began to flow from where her hand lay to the rest of his body. It was an odd feeling, but not entirely unpleasant.

When she removed her hand and moved on to do the same to Alistair, Garrett realized that, although he was still a bit groggy, the pain in his head had subsided to near nothing. He had no clue what Wynne had done to help ease his torment, but he was certainly gaining a new appreciation for traveling with mages. His thoughts turned to Solona and the events of the previous evening, and he closed his eyes again with a moan of regret.

 _What in the bloody void were you thinking, mate?"_

His plan had been to avoid sleeping with Solona for a few nights so he could gather his wits and drive away the emotions that nagged at him since that first morning he awoke to her in his arms. That was all driven to the void after the previous evening. In his drunken haze, he allowed himself to feel things he swore he never would again. He even almost uttered the words at one point, but retained enough of his mind to say a prayer to the spirits instead. Although he avoided using the phrase, the emotions he felt as he melded with her were much more difficult to deny.

 _Get it together, Captain. You can still salvage this. Just keep away from the lass._

A small ray of hope entered his heart when he remembered the fact that he woke up alone that morning. Sometime before dawn, Solona slipped away back to her own tent. It was a good sign. If nothing else, her resistance and resolve to keep things casual would bolster his. Still, there was no need to take unnecessary chances.

"I take it you boys are both fit for battle now?" Wynne asked, interrupting Garrett's inner musings.

Alistair presented her with a boyish smile. "Right as rain, now, Wynne. Thank you."

She turned her attention directly to Garrett. "And what about you, Captain?"

"Fair winds and smooth sails, love," he assured her.

"Good," she said with a curt nod. "Now you can get up and help the rest of us break camp."

The pirate gave her an informal salute with his ringed index finger and grinned. "Aye, aye, love."

Garrett was happy to have something to do with his hands to keep his mind off his troubles. He retreated to his tent and packed up his things before breaking down the shelter to prepare it to go back on Bodahn's wagon. As he passed Miriana's tent on his way to the cart, he noticed she was having significant trouble rolling up the canvas. Against his better judgement, he stopped and dropped his own burden at his feet then grabbed the opposite side of the material Miri was working on.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, her eyes cast to the ground. "I've never done this before."

Garrett took a step forward and lifted her chin with the side of his finger, prompting her to meet his gaze. The corners of her lips curved into an embarrassed smile and her cheeks flushed bright red. The vulnerability swimming in those pools of golden-flecked lapis was absolutely mesmerizing. For the second time in two days, Garrett had to fight the urge to take her in his arms and kiss her.

He dropped his hand to get a better grip on the corner of the canvas. "It's all in the way you fold it. You should have seen me the first time I had to pack one of these up. Made a right mess of it, I did. It took Dad a good three days of showing me before I finally got the hang of it."

A wistful smile crossed the pirate's lips at that recollection. Bryce said much the same thing to Garrett on that trip to Redcliffe all those years ago. As they folded and rolled up tents, his dad made him laugh when he related the story of the first night he, Rendon Howe, and Leonas Bryland spent camping during the war. A great bear wandered into their midst to find food, forcing them all up a tree where they sat until morning just in case the massive beast decided to return.

"Are you alright?" Miriana asked with concern.

Garrett sniffled and blinked several times to drive back the tears stinging his eyes. "Fiddlers green, love."

"The pirate version of 'I'm fine'," the mage noted in her typical airy voice as she followed the captain's lead on folding the material. "Which, as everyone knows, means the exact opposite."

"Just old ghosts creeping up on me," he told her. "Nothing to concern yourself with, love."

She gave him a gentle smile. "Well, if you ever need to talk…"

His brows furrowed together with an expression of gratitude. "Thank you. I appreciate that. Truly."

"Anytime," she whispered.

Garrett made sure to restrict their conversation to giving her instructions after that. He was having enough trouble dealing with his emotions over what happened with Solona the previous evening without adding his growing feelings for Miri into the mix. Though both women posed a danger to his heart, Miriana was the one of which he was most afraid. At least with Solona he knew there was no possibility of taking things further because she wouldn't allow it. Miri, on the other hand, had no such qualms.

When the camp was all packed up and their breakfast was finished, the party set out on the road to Honnleath again. Garrett spent the day at Alistair's side, trading stories about the prince's days as a templar initiate and the pirate's life on his ship. The further south they ventured, the more darkspawn they encountered.

By the end of the day, they had battled eight different bands of the creatures, including three ogres. Garrett never imagined how large those monsters really were until he came face to chest with one. As quiet and soft spoken as Sithig was, he was the fiercest warrior the pirate had ever seen, always putting himself in the thick of battle and swinging that oversized sword of his with speed and ease. Garrett couldn't have been more grateful to have the Avvar on his side, especially when Sithig took the head of an ogre that decided to charge at the captain.

Solona found a large cave for them to hole up in for the night, and they settled in quickly to prevent another attack. It was cramped, but there was enough space for everyone to fit, although Morrigan was most unhappy to be in such close vicinity to the others. The entire time they were laying out their bedrolls and retrieving necessities from their packs, she continually made snarky comments at Alistair's expense, so that, by the time they were finished, he was so angry, he stormed out of the cavern and into the darkening forest.

Deciding to give the Warden a few minutes to cool down before following him outside, Garrett ventured further into the cave. Within the darkness of the tunnel, he spotted a small, flickering glow ahead and inched his way toward it. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard Remus's voice whisper to him from behind his right side.

"I can give you a bit of light, if you like, Captain," he offered before calling a glowing magical orb into his palm.

"You nearly scared the life out of me mate," the pirate groused. "Next time, warn a bloke before sneaking up on him like that."

"I apologize. I didn't mean to startle you."

Although he wasn't fond of the notion of the Imperial bastard tagging along, Garrett's curiosity got the better of him in the end. He wanted to find the source of the lambency, and reasoned if it was a threat, it was something that needed to be dealt with. As he and Remus moved forward, the slippery path beneath the pirate's boots sloped downward as the ceiling overhead grew taller until they found themselves in an underground chamber twice the size of the one they intended to bed down in for the night.

At the back of the expanded cavern, along the wall, there was a natural archway that led into an antechamber that housed the source of the light Garrett saw. He touched his lips with the side of his index finger to remind his companion to remain silent then indicated to the floor to tell Remus he should stay put. Sticking to the shadows as much as possible, the pirate crept his way around the grotto until he reached the entrance to the smaller room before slowly pulling his cutlasses from his belt and taking a deep breath.

* * *

When Miri realized no one was going to go after Alistair, she slipped out of the cave, unnoticed, to find him. He may have been a Grey Warden, but after the amount of darkspawn they encountered that day, it wasn't safe for him to be in the forest alone, and if he had sustained any injury, at least she could heal him. As she wandered between the trees, her vision aided by the ball of light in her hand, she kept her guard up and her magic at the ready in case she ran into trouble herself.

"This is ridiculous, Miri," she mumbled to herself. "What are you doing? You're going to get yourself killed."

"If you keep talking to yourself like that, someone might seriously begin to question your sanity," a familiar voice observed from out of the darkness.

Miriana turned to find Alistair sitting atop a wide boulder. He was leaned forward, his weight resting on his forearms, which were positioned on his thighs. He regarded her with a pensive smile.

"Someone piss you off too?"

"No," she replied. "I was looking for you. I came to see if you were alright."

He shrugged. "I'm fine. I can only take so much of Morrigan's bullshit, you know?"

Miriana sat down next to him and nodded. "I know what you mean. My friend Julia…she got that way with me occasionally. Sometimes I'd hide in a closet to keep her from finding me."

"Doesn't sound like much of a friend, if you ask me."

He was right, Julia never was a very good friend to Miriana. She was overbearing, rude, and oftentimes downright cruel. She was also one of the only people in the confines of the Ostwick Circle that would ever talk to Miri.

The mage drew a deep breath and slowly let it out. "She was the only friend I've ever had."

Alistair grinned and bumped her shoulder with his. "Well, you can't say that now."

Miriana was genuinely surprised by his admission. Although he seemed to hold no love for the Circle, he had to see that she posed a danger given her condition. "You mean you're willing to be friends even knowing what…what I am?"

He wet his lips with his tongue. "You mean a lovely young woman who's really quiet and a lot shy?" he asked, searching her eyes beneath pleated brows.

"I meant…possessed," she whispered, shying away from his judgement.

Alistair cupped her chin between gentle fingers and turned her face to meet his hazel-green gaze again. "You saved our lives. I don't see that as a bad thing, Miriana. Maybe possession is only wrong if the spirit inside you is malevolent. Faith seems like the helpful sort to me, and I don't feel in danger around you. In fact, I feel safer."

His kindness brought a smile to Miri's face, the first real one since she and Alistair were on the captain's gig after leaving Kinloch. Where Garrett was dashing and bold, Alistair's charm presented itself in a much different manner. He used humor and gentleness, most likely unaware of just how charismatic he actually was.

Between his words and the way he smiled at her, Miriana had to fight the urge to close the gap between their lips and kiss him. The only thing stopping her were her thoughts of Garrett and how much she wanted his lips to be the first man's to touch hers. It would probably never happen, she knew full well the truth of that fact, but she wasn't quite ready to let go of that dream just yet. She shifted her weight, causing her to pull away from his touch.

"So, what was templar training like?"

He chuckled. "You don't _really_ want to hear about that do you? It's actually quite boring."

"Then make up something more exciting," she told him with a grin. "I love stories."

"A woman after my own heart," he laughed.

* * *

Brandishing his blades, the captain spun on the ball of his right foot and into the light only to find nothing but a few lit torches in a room with piles of books scattered about the cavern floor. In the far corner, there stood a small, two-wheeled cart, just narrow enough to fit through the hole in the wall. Between the stacks of tomes, there lay what looked to be ancient relics of some kind tossed haphazardly on the ground.

"What is this place?" Remus asked, startling Garrett for the second time.

"How many times do I have to tell you, mate? Don't do that."

Distracted by the treasures surrounding him, the Tevinter man mumbled, "Apologies, Captain," as he made his way to one of the piles of books.

Although Remus was completely enthralled by their find, there was something about the entire situation that didn't sit right with Garrett. For one thing, considering the torches in that room were lit, there was a good chance someone was planning on returning soon, if they weren't already hiding somewhere nearby, waiting for an opportunity to attack. He scanned the room, searching for any opening in the stone where someone might be able to lie low for a while.

As he stood there watching his surroundings, the urge to tuck tail and run struck the captain like a bolt of lightning. Not one prone to allowing his fear to get the better of him, Garrett typically heeded his instincts when they hit him that hard. His heart began pounding within his chest, bidding his legs to run.

"Come on, mate," he called over to his companion. "We need to get back to the others. Something about this place has put my nose to twitching."

Too engrossed in the tome he was perusing, Remus dismissed the pirate's concerns with a wave of his hand. "Go ahead. I will be along shortly. I just want to read through this for a moment."

Under normal circumstances, Garrett would have tried harder to convince the other man to follow. In fact, there was a good chance the pirate may have even waited on him. The nature of Remus's extenuating circumstances, however, bade the captain to leave the Tevinter behind. Besides, with the magical power Remus could wield, he was probably more capable to take care of himself than Garrett was.

"Are you sure, mate?" the pirate asked in one final attempt, but his question was completely ignored that time.

After hesitating another few moments, Garrett sheathed the cutlass in his left hand and grabbed a torch from the wall before finally pivoting on his heel to rush back to the mouth of the cave. When he arrived, he went straight to Solona who was just settling herself atop her bedroll to eat her supper. Before he could tell her about what he and Remus found, a low rumbling began to echo from further in the cave and pebbles started to rain down from the ceiling.

"It's a bloody cave-in," Garrett choked against the dust the falling rock was stirring.

"Everybody out!" Solona barked. "Grab what you can and get outside. Quick!"

Garrett managed to snatch his bedroll just as a large piece of the ceiling toppled to the floor, missing him by only a few inches. After sheathing his sword on his back, Sithig grabbed the two dwarves and hefted them onto his mammoth shoulders then ran them out, while Solona and Wynne held back as much of the diminishing ceiling as they could with a levitation spell to buy everyone else time.

The two women backed toward the mouth of the cavern, their mana quickly diminishing, and finally allowed the entire thing to crumble as soon as they cleared the entrance. Wynne seemed little worse for wear after the deed, but Solona fainted in Garrett's arms. She still drew breath, but her skin was much paler than normal with not even a tinge of color to it.

All at once, the entire outside of the cave that could be seen began glowing with runes the hues of bright green, blue, red, and violet. The magical markings pulsed for a few moments, then disappeared, leaving the cavern in darkness once more. Small orbs of soft light began to shine from the palms of the still conscious mages, including Miriana who ambled her way out of the trees with Alistair at her side.

Everyone stood in stunned silence, trying to discern in their own minds what just occurred, when a man of medium build and height, dressed in thick white robes with golden trim appeared from around the side of the cave. He looked to be no more than thirty-five, with chestnut brown hair, the length of which hung in thick waves about his shoulders. The front of his locks were pulled back in two thick rolls and tied in the back to give a good view of his dark blue eyes, wide nose and hairless jawline.

He removed his hand from beneath the magical orb he carried and let it hover in the air at the level of his chest. Without a word to anyone present, he reached into his pocket and retrieved a shiny red apple then took a large bite from it. He observed the cave through narrowed lids as he chewed, paying no heed at all to the people gawking at him. When he at last swallowed to clear his mouth of the fruit, he turned to regard Garrett with a satisfied smile.

"Well, it won't hold him forever, but at least he shouldn't give us anymore trouble until the Blight is ended," he professed, reaching into his pocket once more to retrieve a second piece of fruit. He held it out to the pirate. "Care for an apple, my boy?"


	41. The Immortal Elf

Garrett stared at the strange man standing before him, his left brow arched in a puzzled expression. The mage was responsible for the cave-in that nearly killed them all. The pirate was certain of it, but he would show no fear to the stranger. He held up his hand to receive the offering and shrugged.

"Sure mate, why not?"

"That's the spirit, my boy," the stranger grinned then tossed the apple to the pirate.

The fruit was perfect in its dimensions and coloring. There wasn't even a hint of bruising nor were there any age spots. It was as if it had just been picked from the tree at the very moment it was ripened to perfection. Garrett removed one of the throwing knives from his belt and cut away a small piece of the apple, the juices from it trickling down the sides of the fruit onto his fingers. He stared into the other man's eyes with defiance while internally questioning if he would be the first of Solona's companions to die upon being poisoned by a piece of fruit.

"Perhaps you should consider the consequences of that before you act," Morrigan drawled in protest. "My mother often uses such ploys against her enemies."

The stranger's face transformed into a disgusted grimace. "Yes, I am well aware of the tricks your mother likes to play on the ignorant and vulnerable. I, on the other hand, would never stoop to such tactics."

"And who better to make such claims than one who is attempting to utilize those very tactics?" the witch questioned with a smug grin.

The man's right brow curved into an arch. "My dear, if I wanted you dead, any or all of you, I would be much more direct about it."

Morrigan folded her arms over her chest and harrumphed. "Is that supposed to frighten me?"

"I'm not trying to frighten you dear girl, just inform you," he replied then narrowed his lids to scrutinize her more closely. "You're not quite as fearless and indifferent as you try to make others believe."

Ignoring the ongoing conversation and against the witch's advice, Garrett popped the slice into his mouth and began to chew. It was a delectable combination of tart, sweet, and crisp, sublime in both texture and flavor. As far as he could tell, there were no ill effects, but the pirate knew some poisons acted much slower than others. He could agonize for days before that small piece of apple eventually killed him.

"Good, eh? I prefer the red ones, myself. Not as sweet as the golden apples, but they don't make you pucker up like the green ones," the stranger declared before smacking his right temple with the heel of his palm. "But where _are_ my manners? I got so caught up in trying to trap Remus, I nearly forgot them completely." He flourished an animated bow. "I am Jaceathrius, Jace to my friends, former First Enchanter of the Montsimmard Circle, the Perendale Circle, and the Circle of Ansburg. I was even called Grand Enchanter at one point in my life, but that was many, many moons ago. I became quite disillusioned with the politics of that position fairly quickly. That's when I gave up on the Circles altogether. If truth be told, I never really cared for the blasted things much anyway."

"I always thought being First Enchanter was a lifelong position once one was named," a finally conscious Solona observed with a raspy voice and doubtful expression. "And I've never heard of anyone gaining that title at such a young age. As far as I'm aware, there has been only one Grand Enchanter in my lifetime and his name isn't Jaceathrius."

Jace laughed. "I thank you for the compliment, my dear, but I am far older than the current Grand Enchanter. Unlike most Grand Enchanters, I was named by the Divine herself to try to quell some of the tension between the elves and the humans during that time. Unfortunately, Renata found I wasn't so easily swayed to her way of thinking. When the elven people captured Montsimmard and sacked Val Royeaux, I asked for a peaceful solution and even tried to get the woman to see their side of things. I'm afraid it was my sympathy for my elven brethren that led Renata to declare the Exalted March against the Dales and for the subsequent mistreatment of elves thereafter, including the formation of the alienages."

"That's impossible," Cullen balked. "That march took place at the beginning of the Glory Age."

The elf blew a harsh breath between closed lips, causing them to vibrate with a derisive sound. "Glory age, my ass. Hortensia was a doddering old biddy who was given too much power for a woman of such limited intelligence. The only thing glorious about that age were the monuments Orlais and the Chantry built to their own vanity. It was the void for elves and mages, not to mention most of the other nations of Thedas.

"After that, I just went into hiding for a while, living as an apostate until Lilette was given the title. Lovely woman, Lilette." He pulled a small amulet from under the front of his robes, which bore the symbol of the Divine. "She gave this to me after many evenings of long and fascinating conversation. It's gotten me out of more scrapes than I care to count."

"What is it, exactly?" Alistair questioned.

Jace tucked the pendant back into his robes. "It's a free pass of sorts. The same one given to the current Grand Enchanter and passed on to the next. Keeps me from being branded an apostate and allows me to move freely throughout Thedas without constant supervision."

"I didn't realize such a thing even existed," Solona admitted, her left brow raised with skepticism.

"As far as I know, there are only two. I wear one. Briaus wears the other."

Most of the conversation was little better than gibberish to Garrett. Although Eleanor insisted that he attend mass and even Chantry school when he was young, he never paid attention to any of it. He was raised to believe in the Spirits of nature and life, not some far away father figure and his barbarian bride. As much as he loved the Couslands, he could never entertain conversion to a religion that mistreated so many people just because they were different. He did recognize the names of the Ages, however. If Jace was Grand Enchanter during the Glory Age, it meant the elf was more than seven hundred years old.

Although he realized it was uncouth to ask, Garrett simply had to know. "Just how old are you exactly, mate?"

The elf screwed up his face in concentration for several moments. "Hard to say, really. To be honest, I kind of lost track over the years. The only thing I can tell you with any certainty is that my years walking this land number in the thousands, but it's really difficult to pinpoint a number. Before humans arrived in Thedas, time was an irrelevant concept."

"You're one of the immortals," Solona gasped.

It was the first time Garrett had ever seen the woman appear genuinely shocked by anything. Through the many books the pirate read over the years, he knew some of the stories about the mysterious elven people of Arlathan, but he always dismissed it as nothing more than legend, fodder for a good tale. He never imagined such people actually existed.

"I am," Jace confirmed.

Solona's brow's knitted together as she contemplated the elf's statement. "I knew your magic felt very old, older even than Flemeth's, but…I guess I never imagined. I thought all the elves of that time lost their immortality."

"Most did, but I was in quite a state when my wife left me. After more than six thousand years, she just walked out with another man. In my anger, I spent the next two thousand years or so hiding from the world. Somehow, I missed the event that took my people's immortality. Of course, when I finally did emerge from my hiding place...Well, let's just say I wasn't happy with the state of the world." He waved his hand dismissively. "But, there will be plenty of time for all that during our travels. Even after all these years, talking about that woman always puts me in a bad mood. Besides, I'm famished. Apples are all well and good, but they're hardly what I would consider a meal. A hearty Ferelden stew would hit the spot about now. I'm partial to rabbit, myself."

"Supper sounds perfect," Garrett told the man, his own gut churning from hunger. "I just hope we didn't lose all our food to that cave-in."

* * *

Although their original meal was ruined by the cavern's collapse, Bodahn managed to throw together a thin soup made from potatoes, onions, carrots, wild mushrooms, and dried pork served with a side of hardtack while they set up camp outside for the evening. It was palatable enough, but hardly the meal Jace asked for. A good rabbit stew really would have hit the spot at the end of such a long day.

As they ate, Alistair expected the elf to continue with his mad rantings about ages past and his involvement in history, but Jace remained relatively quiet during supper. Instead, he studied the faces and movements of those around him, as if he were trying to learn who they all were through his silent scrutiny. The prince tried to ignore the man's surveillance, but it was a bit too unnerving to overlook completely.

He wasn't sure what to make of the elf's claims, but he understood what Solona meant when she said Jace's magic felt older than Flemeth's. Not knowing a lot about magic himself beyond negating it, Alistair couldn't explain the sensation, he simply felt it. The elf's gift was ancient, but at least it wasn't as dark and foreboding as that of the Witch of the Wilds. That fact didn't make it any less off-putting, however.

The prince just couldn't wrap his mind around anyone being as old as Jace claimed to be. How was that even possible? With the exception of the Maker, everything had a beginning and an end. Didn't it?

His gaze settled on Miriana who was sitting off by herself on a stump near the fire. After a long moment, she looked up from her meal. Upon catching Alistair staring, her face flushed crimson before she extended a shy smile, tucked a loose strand of sable behind her ear, and returned her attention back to her food. It was a reaction the prince never expected. Was it possible Miri was beginning to like him as more than an acquaintance or even a friend?

She was so sweet earlier, risking her safety to ensure he was alright. Then, when they began to talk, she laughed at his anecdotes and listened when he went off on a tangent about his frustration over the mistreatment he endured by his fellows at the monastery. He didn't mention Cullen, of course, but that didn't stop him from pouring out his heart in regards to the behavior of some of the others. Even when tears began to sting his eyes near the end of their conversation, she didn't look upon him with pity, but with a sense of general empathy. That was when Alistair began to realize what a kind heart the woman truly possessed.

More than once during that exchange, the prince was tempted to kiss Miri, but he was afraid such a thing would be too forward. He didn't want to do anything to impede the progress toward friendship being built between them. Besides, he wasn't blind to the way she still stared so longingly at Garrett when the captain wasn't paying attention.

He heaved a protracted sigh. It was all in his head. It had to be. Miriana was in love with the pirate, and Alistair didn't stand a chance in such a competition with the captain. Even if Garrett never returned the mage's feelings, the prince was certain her dreams of the other man were better than anything he could ever offer her.

Just as Alistair sopped up the last of his soup with the remaining bit of tack, Garrett plopped down onto the dirt next to him and took a peek inside his friend's bowl. "I was hoping you were just about finished. Time for a pipe, then, mate?"

"Sure," Alistair agreed with a grin through his final bite of food.

He set his dish to the side then pulled out his pipe and filled it with the elfroot from his pouch. Once he had it properly lit, he leaned back and propped his weight onto his left hand then took a long draw. For several moments, he and Garrett watched the central fire in silence, both mulling over the events of the day in their own heads. After a while, Jace approached them with his own overly long pipe in hand and gestured to the ground next to the captain.

"Do you boys mind if I join?"

"Be my guest, mate," Garrett replied. "The more, the merrier."

Jace settled himself down, inhaled a deep breath around the stem of his pipe, and blew out several rings, which grew larger as they floated away into the night sky. "You know, I've always believed that all the world's problems can be solved when men gather with pipes beneath the stars."

Garrett chuckled. "I suppose there may be something to that line of thinking. I like it." He took another drag from his pipe and blew it out, his face screwed up in a thoughtful expression. "In the spirit of solving the world's problems, there's one thing that's got me buggered, mate. How in the bloody void did you know about Remus?"

The elf crossed his legs and leaned forward. "I've been tracking that little bastard for quite some time now. When I discovered you were heading toward Honnleath, I got ahead of your group and set up that trap. A stroke of genius on my part, if I do say so myself."

"You put all that stuff in that cave…by yourself?" the pirate questioned with a doubtful expression.

"Yes," Jace answered. "And let me tell you, it wasn't easy getting all those books in there. By the time I was finished, I decided to hang the cart. It wasn't worth me hauling it back out."

Alistair's brow furrowed. "But how did you know we were going to Honnleath? We didn't know ourselves until the day we left Redcliffe."

"I have my methods," the elf replied with the flat of his finger on the side of his nose before laughing off his own joke with a waggle of his head. "It wasn't that difficult really. You didn't exactly make a secret of your plans, you know." He reached into his pocket and pulled out another shiny red apple then took a large bite. After swallowing it, he drew another one from his robes and offered it to Garrett. "Care for an apple?"

The pirate shook his head with disbelief. "I suppose I could do with another apple, if you're offering."

Jace handed the fruit to the captain then pulled a third from his pocket and presented it to Alistair. "And you, my boy? Would you like one as well?"

"Sure," the prince shrugged retrieving the apple from the elf's hand.

Before he could do so himself, Garrett asked the question first and foremost on Alistair's mind. "How in the bloody void do you do that, mate? You got an orchard hidden in that pocket of yours?"

The elf winked. "Magic, my boy. Pure and simple. My own unique brand. Much of the magic once known throughout Thedas became lost when the elves were stripped of their immortality and even more with the formation of the Circles. Though, I must admit, I'm the only one who could perform this particular feat, even back then. And before you ask, it's a secret I'm not willing to part with."

"I'll figure it out," Garrett promised with a determined expression.

Jace patted the pirate's leg. "Perhaps, my boy, perhaps. But not anytime soon, I expect. You don't even have control over your own gift yet."

The captain removed a dagger from his belt and twirled it between his fingers before replacing it in its sheath. "I don't know, mate. I'd say my control's pretty damned good, wouldn't you?"

The elf shook his head with a chuckle. "Not with blades, you foolish boy. With magic."

* * *

Garrett nearly choked on the piece of apple in his mouth as he waved his hands in front of his chest, refusing to even entertain such an idea. "You have your riggings crossed somewhere, mate. I'm no mage. Just a simple pirate."

"And how many times have you had things happen around you, odd and unusual things, that you couldn't quite explain?" Jace questioned.

The captain knew exactly what the elf was talking about. There were several times throughout his twenty-eight years that he was forced to dismiss strange happenings as a lucky coincidence or a curious twist of fate. Then there was his dad, except for the trek to Kinloch to take Solona to the Circle when she was a girl, Marko always ensured no templars ever came too near Garrett or the _Call_. Was it possible the old captain suspected he had magic?

 _Dad just didn't like templars, that's all. Me a mage? The whole notion's just ridiculous._

"Happens to everybody occasionally, mate. It doesn't prove a thing."

Jace's lid's narrowed as he bore holes into the pirate's soul with the most gravely serious expression Garrett had ever seen. "And how do you explain why your ship always sails faster with you at the helm, as if the very wind always favors your steering more than anyone else's?"

It was true. As early as the age of seven, Marko always put Garrett at the helm when the _Call_ needed to make good time, and there wasn't a ship that could best his lady when he was the one steering her. He always chalked it up to superior sailing skill, but, then again…No. It was insanity to believe he could wield magic.

The pirate smirked. "I'm just that good, I guess. Best sailor in the seven seas."

"So nothing out of the ordinary happened to you at all recently?" pressed the elf. "What about your first run-in with Remus at the tavern? You survived that."

"That was Miri's doing," the pirate argued before regarding Jace with a curious frown. "How did you know about that anyway? And while we're at it, how did you know my lady sails faster with me at the helm?"

They were both valid questions. Ones Garrett very much wanted the elf to answer. Just how much did Jace know about him, and why would he even give a damn?

The elf laughed. "Your reputation precedes you, my boy. Everyone who's ever sailed the seas for any length of time knows Captain Hawke. You said it yourself, best sailor in the seven seas and, from what I've heard, the most notorious pirate. As for the events in Highever, I told you, I've been tracking Remus for some time."

"There's more to it than that," Garrett insisted with a deadly glare as his fingers moved slowly toward the cutlass at his hip. "Who are you, really, mate?"

Jace leaned in closer until his face was inches from the pirate's. "Before you try to cut me down with that blade, a feat which I will tell you now you won't accomplish." He held up his index finger. "I ask you to do me one favor…Just one."

As skilled as Garrett was and as disinclined as he was to believe any man could escape his blades when they were in that close a proximity, a part of him began to wonder if the elf could actually make good on his promise of evasion. He also had to admit, he was curious about what sort of dispensation the man could possibly want from him. He backed away far enough to achieve a better angle for his sword arm.

"And what might that be?"

"Hold out your palm," Jace instructed. "You can even use your left so your right will be free to stay on the hilt of your blade." Garrett hesitated for a moment before following the elf's direction. When his hand was chest level in front of him, the other man continued. "Now, close your eyes and concentrate. Think of the small shock you get when you touch someone after shuffling your feet across a rug."

The captain chuckled to himself. It reminded him of a game he and Fergus used to play when they were children. One of the boys would strip their feet down to their stockings and drag them along the carpet in the great hall of Castle Cousland then sneak up on the other from behind to give him a good shock. Garrett got Fergus so bad once that he actually made his brother's hair stand on end a bit. He thought of that sensation, concentrated on it as hard as he could.

"Now," Jace directed, "Snap your fingers together."

Garrett did as instructed and his entire body twitched from the jolt it gave him. His right hand moved from his cutlass to the top of his head only to find fine wisps of hair jutting out at every angle. There was no carpet, no stocking feet, simply his thought that instigated the shock to his system. He stared at Jace a long moment, his jaw slack with surprise.

"See," the elf gloated. "Magic."

The pirate shook his head. "How is this even possible?"

"I suspect one or both of your parents was a mage," Jace said with a nonchalant shrug.

"My father," Garrett admitted, his brow pleated with a frown. "I just found out he and Wynne knew each other when he was at Kinloch."

The elf smiled. "Well, see, there you are." He patted the captain's shoulder. "No need to look so down about it, my boy. Although some see it as a curse, magic is a gift. Something to be celebrated. When used properly, it can change the world for the better."

"But it can also cause great harm," Cullen argued from somewhere behind Garrett.

"True, my boy, but it's what's in the hearts of men that determines what they do with magic. It's the same as anything else. Magic can be used for many things, but, for the moment, let's consider it purely as a weapon. In the right hands, it can aid armies fighting for a righteous cause or save the helpless in the direst of circumstances. In the wrong hands, it can bring about destruction and death. It's the same as any blade or bow.

"But magic is capable of destruction on a much larger scale," Cullen insisted. "A sword can only kill a few at a time."

Garrett bristled at the templar's argument. He thought of the horrors that occurred at Castle Cousland and the deaths of his family. Howe managed to kill every single person there down to the last child and all without using one spell.

"Aye, mate, one sword can only kill a few at a time, but take an army full of men bearing blades and bows and put it in the hands of a monster, then you'll see the scope of true evil. As bad as the tower was, I'd rather go through it a hundred times over than relive what I saw at Castle Cousland. If you would've seen what Howe's men did to my mom and dad, you'd know Jace speaks true."

Cullen's face twisted in rage. "You don't know what those mages did in the tower. You only saw the aftermath. You didn't live it. You have no idea the horrors I was made to endure."

Garrett felt his own anger begin to well up as his lips curled into a sneer. "I only saw the aftermath at Castle Cousland, too. I don't even want to imagine what exactly took place there. The difference is, you can excuse the events at Kinloch as the results of magic because most in the Chantry believe magic is inherently evil. How in the bloody void will the fucking Andrastians excuse the behavior of a mundane man who instigated the atrocities that befell my family?

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but what happened in the tower took place because mages were tired of being locked away in prisons for the crime of being born. Under the direction of Howe, his soldiers murdered and raped innocent men, women, and children for nothing more than the promise of a better title. For bloody power! Not one spell was thrown in that fight. Not a bloody fucking one! Tell me, templar, which is worse?"

"I'm not saying that normal men aren't capable of evil, but…" Cullen began.

Garrett interrupted with a sharp wave of his hand. "You've been hiding in a monastery and a Circle for far too long, mate. You have no idea what _normal_ men are capable of." He regarded Jace and Alistair in turn with a bow. "Gentlemen, I bid you a good night. I intend to drink myself into a stupor, bed a beautiful lass, and pass out til morning."

As he stomped away, the pirate ripped the left flask of rum from its holster, popped the cork, and guzzled half the contents. The world was already spinning before he took his first step, but he didn't care. He didn't want to think about magic or templars or Circles. He certainly didn't want any more reminders about what took place at Castle Cousland. One day, that's all he wanted. Just one day where he wasn't haunted by Eleanor's dead eyes or Bryce's face, forever frozen in agony from the gaping wounds in his chest and gut.

Garrett swallowed the last drop of amber from its container and shoved it back into its holder before removing the second and repeating the process. He needed something to take his mind off his troubles, a distraction to drive away the horrific images in his head. He needed Solona.

Branches snapped and leaves crunched loudly beneath his feet as the pirate stumbled his way to the mage's tent. He could barely see through the cloud of alcohol and elfroot. Perhaps he hadn't sobered up quite as much as he first believed. When he tripped over a tent stake and barely caught his balance by grabbing the pole of the shelter, he realized he needed to get off his feet before he blacked out. There was light inside the shelter, illuminating the form of a woman with long hair, and Garrett thanked the Spirits he found the object of his desire before he was forced to go the rest of the way on all fours.

He crawled inside, flopped onto the bedroll next to her, and rolled over to greet her with a drunken grin before bestowing a long, slow kiss upon her lips. "Well, hello there, love. Fancy meeting you here."

She hesitated a few moments then regarded him with a bewildered smile and a soft voice. "H…hello, Garrett. I…I think you may be in the wrong tent."


	42. Falling

Garrett lay staring up at Miriana with glassy, aquamarine eyes. Since the day she met him, Miri dreamed the pirate would be the first man to kiss her. Unfortunately, the realization of that dream had just become one more glaring disappointment in her life. He wanted Solona, not her. As usual, her inner voice took on Julia's haughty tone as she tried to come to terms with what happened.

 _Of course he's interested in Solona. She's the pretty one, the sexy and confident one. You're just plain old Miriana. Why would a man like that ever choose_ _ **you**_ _over her?_

The young mage heaved a disillusioned sigh then presented the object of her unrequited affections with a half-hearted smile. "I should probably get someone to help you to your tent."

His lips curved into a sexy, uneven smirk as he reached up and caressed her cheek with calloused fingers. "Or," he whispered, "I could just stay here for the night…With you."

Miriana's heart leapt and broke at the same time, her stomach filled with a thousand butterflies while her guts simultaneously churned. Her skin grew hot and flushed and she was unsure whether she would faint from elation or vomit from her disenchantment. He must have been too inebriated to comprehend her earlier statement and still mistaking her for her twin.

"Garrett…"

His fingers moved from her cheek to entangle in her thick mane. Miri knew she should pull away, stop him from drawing her lips to his again, but she didn't want to. She wanted that kiss, needed it. Just like Gerard in the Fade, it wasn't real, but she could pretend, if only for a few more stolen moments.

His hot breath was heavy with the scent of dark Rivaini rum and burned elfroot. When he parted her lips with his tongue and it brushed against hers, she reveled in the taste of the spicy and sweet blend. She released an audible sigh into his mouth as he deepened the kiss and placed his free hand on the middle of her back to coax her to his chest. His excitement pressed into her thigh as his fingers trailed up her spine, eliciting gooseflesh to prickle every inch of her skin. When he returned his hands to her face and her cheeks were cradled within his palms, he broke the contact between their lips to press his forehead to hers.

"Miri," he murmured before capturing her lips again.

The mage's heart thundered like a late spring storm, its rhythm pounding in her ears. He knew it was her. He was kissing _her_. She let go of all trepidation to enjoy the softness of his lips and his tongue gently dancing with hers. His fingers traced the lines of her throat down to the front of her robes until his hand was cupping her right breast. The flat of his thumb circled her nipple until it pebbled under his expert touch.

Miri allowed him to continue for a few moments more before sliding off his body to her knees and rocking back on her heels. She wanted him, more than she imagined possible, more than she could ever put into words, but not like that. She was fully aware his advances were most likely caused by his inebriation, and he would have never acted in such a manner if he weren't so intoxicated. If she gave into him that night, she would regret it, knowing it was a liaison of convenience, not because he cared for her. She wanted her first time to be special, to mean something. Not so the pirate could put another notch in his belt, but because he loved her.

His brows knitted together in a forlorn expression. "Is something wrong, love?"

"No," she lied. "I just…I can't. I'm sorry."

Miriana's heart nearly broke from the dismay that darkened the pirate's green-blue eyes. If she hadn't known better, she would have sworn he was actually stricken by her denial. She attempted to smile, but in her turmoil, she feared it came across as more of a pained grimace. Garrett rolled over and tried to push himself to a crawling stance, but fell flat under his own weight.

"Just give me a moment, love," he requested, his words muffled by the pillow his face was planted in. "I'll be out of your hair, toot suite. Just need to gain me bearings a bit."

Miri's stomach lurched. She embarrassed him, no humiliated him. If he recalled her rejection the next morning, he'd likely never look her in the eyes again. That wasn't what she wanted at all, but what choice did she really have?

"It's alright," she assured him. "I'll get Solona."

As she scurried out of her tent, Miriana stopped short when she heard the captain fall again and cringed at the string of curses that subsequently spewed from his mouth. She scrambled to her feet then hurried to her twin who was sitting on a log near the fire, laughing. Before Miri had a chance to speak, Solona held up her hand with a chuckle.

"Don't worry, Sister. I'll take care of it." She rose to her feet and brushed the dirt from her leather trousers. "Did you enjoy yourself?" she questioned with an arch of her brow and the hint of a smile. "Or perhaps I should ask if you enjoyed him?"

Miriana was taken aback a bit by her twin's question. She worried Solona would be angry with her, jealous. Instead, her sister seemed more amused by the situation than anything else.

 _Of course she's not jealous. What's there to be jealous over? Certainly not_ _ **you**_ _._

"I…I don't know what you're talking about," Miri fibbed in reply.

Her sister folded her arms across her chest and smirked. "You were always a dreadful liar, Miri. I can see that hasn't improved over the years. It's alright, I'm not angry with you. He's three sheets to the wind and obviously crawled into your tent by mistake."

 _Yes. Obviously._

Solona leaned in close to her twin's ear. "One piece of advice, Sister? The next time you find yourself with a man in your tent, you might want to pack away your glowstones. They tend to cast shadows."

Miriana gasped, and her face flushed crimson as her sister took her leave to retrieve Garrett. When the other woman reached Miri's tent, she peeked inside then called to her twin over her shoulder. "If you don't mind, I think we should trade tents for the night. He's in no shape to be moved."

"Alright," Miri squeaked with a nod, but Solona was inside before her sister finished the word.

The young mage slumped down onto the wooden perch her sister abandoned and bit her lips to stem the tide of tears gathering in her eyes. She almost wished Solona had been jealous. Instead, her twin humiliated her by reminding everyone around them that Garrett would never find interest in a dowdy, uninteresting girl like her.

She glanced over at her tent in time to see her sister straddle Garrett before stuffing the two glowstones by the bedroll into a pack next to her foot. A tear spilled onto Miriana's cheek as she turned her gaze to concentrate on the toes of her boots. A few moments later, she heard someone sit down next to her. It was Alistair. She recognized him immediately by the light scent of his cologne.

"Are you alright?" he questioned, his voice colored with genuine concern.

The mage nodded. "Yes, I'm fine."

"Allergies are the worst, aren't they?" he asked. "They set my eyes to watering all the time, too. Especially out here in the woods. I say curse whoever decided that pine needed that particular smell. My nose has been running like a hungry great bear after a hunter ever since we got into this glade. I'm pretty sure it's trying to win a marathon."

A quiet chuckle escaped Miri's lips. How did Alistair always know the exact right thing to say? She peered over at him, her eyes glistening in the firelight, and sniffled.

"Thank you," she whispered when he handed her a handkerchief.

A mischievous grin played at the corners of his mouth when she began dabbing at her eyes. "Don't worry. I'm fairly certain that's the clean side. Leastwise, I don't see any green or yellow stains." When she jerked the cloth away and grimaced with disgust, he laughed. "Kidding. It's clean, I promise, but you should see the look on your face."

The mage giggled at his jest. His sense of humor was different from anyone she ever met. It was a bit silly and childish, but, at the same time, charming. After some of the things he told her earlier that evening when they were alone, Miri was aware his jokes were most likely Alistair's way of masking his own pain. He used humor to disguise his shyness and self-doubt. She envied him a bit for that.

His impish smirk altered to a gentle smile as he brushed a tendril of hair from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. "Much better. You have a wonderful smile. You shouldn't hide it behind such frowny faces." As he moved his hand back to his lap, his brow furrowed. "You're in love with him, aren't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Miriana lied with feigned innocence. "Who?"

The prince waggled his head. "Solona's right about one thing. You really are a _terrible_ liar."

"It doesn't really…" Miri began, but her words stopped short upon hearing the muffled carnal noises emanating from her nearby tent.

Cullen, who was sitting on the other end of the log, heaved a loud and angry grunt before rising to his feet and stomping away. Miriana could hardly blame him. Like Alistair, the templar was in love with her sister, who chose to give herself to another man. The man that Miri loved. That notion gave her pause.

 _I love him. I really do love him._

Her shoulders lifted and fell with a sigh. It didn't matter. That's exactly what she was going to tell Alistair, but by the crestfallen expression on his face, he already knew exactly how she felt. They shared the same affliction. Both of them suffered from the heartache of love that would forever remain unreturned, a fruitless endeavor that neither could cease nor deny.

"I'm a bit tired, Alistair," the mage told him. "I think I'll go to my tent now."

"Me too," he mumbled with a woeful scowl. "See you in the morning."

* * *

Garrett awoke alone the next morning to a pounding head and a sick stomach. The tent was empty of all but himself, a blanket, his pile of clothes, and the bedroll beneath him. He squeezed his lids shut against the physical pain and the memory of the previous evening. He was a mage. There was no denying that fact anymore. Even awake, he could still sense the Fade, just barely, but it was there.

Then there was Miri. Despite all his efforts to avoid her, the brief moment they shared was enough to send him over the edge. After years of avoiding the pitfalls of such foolish emotions, the pirate found himself in love with not one woman, but two, and they were sisters to boot. How in the void did he get himself into such a mess?

 _What are you so worried about, mate? Solona doesn't want anything serious, and it's pretty obvious after last night that Miri isn't interested in you at all. She wants Gerard, not a broken down, bloody mess of a man like you._

The pirate draped his right arm across his eyes. What was he thinking kissing Miriana like that? Especially after barging into her tent the way he did. He probably embarrassed the void out of the poor girl, not to mention giving her a bit of a fright. Usually, he exercised more tact than that. Instead he behaved like a drunken fiend. He would have to apologize to her later. He only hoped she could forgive him for such a lewd indiscretion.

After several more minutes of chiding his idiocy, Garrett grabbed his leather trousers and smallclothes, slipped them on, then rolled over onto his knees, stopping long enough for his surroundings to finish spinning. Not bothering with trying to work the buttons of his silk shirt, the captain crawled his way from the canvas shelter with his bare chest exposed to the early spring chill outside. The frigid air felt good against his overheated skin as he squinted against the glare of the morning sun assaulting his eyes. After hauling himself to his feet with the help of the tent's support pole, Garrett made his way to where Wynne was eating her breakfast by the fire.

"Do you mind giving me a hand, love?" he asked.

With lips pursed in exasperation, the healer exhaled a perturbed breath. "If I must, but this is absolutely the last time, young man."

She grabbed hold of his shirttail and yanked so hard he dropped to his knees onto the ground next to her feet with a grunt. Garrett scowled at her. He expected her to ease his pain, not inflict more. The healer arched a condescending brow.

"You didn't _really_ expect me to get up to do this, did you?" she asked before placing her hands on the sides of his head. "You came to me, remember?"

When she finished with the healing, Wynne retrieved her plate to continue her meal, effectively dismissing Garrett by disregarding his continued presence. Not one to be ignored, the pirate kissed the older woman's cheek and brandished an angular smirk.

"Thank you, love. Your assistance is most appreciated."

Despite her obvious attempt to remain aloof, the healer's pale cheeks flushed from the contact. She wagged her head with a chuckle. "Careful, young man, before you find yourself in _my_ tent this evening."

His eyes twinkled with mischief as he buttoned his shirt. "Is that an offer, Wynne?"

"Not a serious one," she replied with a wry smile. "But if you don't go soon, it might turn into one."

The pirate leapt to his feet with a chortle then scanned his surroundings until he spotted Alistair sitting nearby. The prince greeted him with a boyish grin and gestured the pirate over with a tilt of his head. When Garrett sat down next to his friend, the other man handed him a plate of scrambled eggs with bits of crumbled bacon.

"I figured you'd be out soon, so I took the liberty of getting you some breakfast before it was all gone. Hopefully it's not too cold."

The pirate stabbed the concoction with his fork. "Thanks, mate. After a lifetime of Ramirez's cooking, anything's an improvement. Even frozen eggs."

"You know," Jace interrupted. "You don't need to suffer with a cold breakfast. Magic can be used for more than just battle. Just picture heat radiating from the center of your palms into the plate. The further it moves away from you, the warmer it gets. That way you don't burn your hands. Don't try to use flame, though. That's a sure way to catch yourself and your breakfast on fire."

At first, Garrett was reluctant to take the elf's advice, but the notion of filling his belly with cold eggs prior to a long day's journey was motivation enough for the pirate to give it a go. He closed his eyes and concentrated on gathering heat into his palms then into his plate. It burned a bit, and he almost dropped the dish before he worked out the spell, but he managed to complete it in the end. Within moments, he opened his eyes to the sight of steam rising from the eggs. For the second time in less than a day, he used magic, on purpose. He never wanted to be a mage, but he was definitely beginning to see the advantages of having the gift.

"Just remember," Jace told him. "The more you do, the easier it gets. Pretty soon, I expect that spell will become second nature to you."

Alistair grimaced at the food on his own plate. "In that case, do you think you could warm mine, as well? The grease is starting to turn into jelly."

"You could always do it yourself, my boy," the elf suggested. "If you've a mind to."

"I'm not a mage," Alistair huffed. "And I don't want to talk about it." He held out his plate to Garrett. "Please?"

Warming Alistair's food was certainly a lot easier than heating his own. When he handed the plate back to the prince, the man tested the eggs and grinned. "Perfect! Thanks."

"No problem, mate," said Garrett with a self-satisfied smile. "Anytime."

Once the camp was packed up and they were back on the road, the remainder of the day went much like the previous one. As they fought against bands of darkspawn, Garrett noticed Jace spent most of those battles standing on the sidelines eating apples and foraging for herbs. In fact, the only time the elf joined at all was when one of the creatures attacked him, and then only to the point where he was no longer in immediate danger. The entire situation was odd. Jace was obviously a very powerful mage. Why wouldn't he fight?

When they stopped to make camp for the evening, Garrett hurried through setting up his tent so he could speak to Jace alone before supper. He was anxious to learn more about his gift, but he was also curious to the man's lack of involvement. The elf was using magic to pound in the last stake of his shelter when the pirate approached him.

"Hello, mate," he greeted. "Was wondering if I might have a word with you?"

"Of course, dear boy," the elf agreed as he pulled his pipe from the pocket of his robes. He pointed to a nearby rock with the stem. "Why don't we have a seat over there? I take it you have your pipe and pouch handy?"

Garrett patted his chest at the area of the inside pocket of his leather duster. "Always, mate."

When they reached the boulder and sat down, the pirate filled his pipe then removed the flint and steel kit from the pouch at his waist. After several moments of preparation, he was ready to light the leaf, but paused when he noticed Jace regarding him with a curious frown.

"Something wrong?" the captain asked.

The elf's gaze moved from Garrett's face to his pipe and back again. "There's an easier way to do that, you know. All it takes is a spark of magic to light it and then a bit of well-placed heat from your fingers to the bowl every now and again to keep it going."

Garrett had to admit, he was more than a little reluctant to use actual flame magic. Heat was one thing, but Jace already warned him it was possible to catch himself on fire. He grimaced, contemplating whether or not he was ready to learn anything as complicated as flame.

"If you're so bloody worried about it," the elf huffed and grabbed the captain's pipe. "I'll hold onto it while you work the spell. Now, close your eyes and picture the Fade. You should see a pool of lyrium somewhere nearby. Do you see it?"

The pirate squeezed his lids shut and concentrated on the place where his dreaming mind roamed when he slept. In the distance, high in the air, he saw tall, dark buildings surrounded by a high wall. He pivoted in a slow circle until he spotted the pool of blue liquid several feet away then walked toward it. Once standing next to it, he bobbed his head.

"Aye."

"That's where you draw your mana from, and it only takes a thought to do so. As you learn to use your magic, you'll become aware of the contents of that pool without ever needing to picture the Fade at all. It is of the utmost importance to remember, that pool will start to deplete as soon as you begin a spell. It will refill over time, but never as quickly as it is drained, and if you drain too much of it, it will make you very weak and give you a void of a headache that can only be relieved by resting for several hours. If you drain it completely, however, you will die. So you must never allow it to get too low.

"Now, to create the spark you need to light the pipe, all you have to do is create an ember between your thumb and index finger at the moment you snap them together over the bowl. It's a bit like the shock you created last night, but instead of electricity, you'll summon fire."

Garrett was unsure how a small ember would catch the leaf enough for it to stay lit for more than a second or two. It certainly wouldn't work if he were to drop a cinder into the bowl without magic. It just didn't make sense, and Garrett never did anything that didn't make sense to him. Perhaps just a little bit of extra mana would ignite the fire enough without requiring Jace to work so hard to keep it lit and prevent the pirate from needing to repeat the spell.

He placed his fingers over the bowl of the pipe and drew the extra mana he felt would be needed and snapped before opening his eyes in time to witness a large stream of flame rise up from the pipe and light Jace's eyebrows. The elf waved away the offending fire and glared at the pirate beneath brows that were singed to the skin.

"Have a difficult time following instructions, don't you, my boy?" he observed before scowling down at the bowl of the pipe. "Damn shame. Waste of perfectly good elfroot."

Garrett brandished the same sheepish smile he used to wear when Eleanor scolded him as a child. "Sorry, 'bout that, mate." He pointed to Jace's eyebrows. "I hope that's not permanent."

The elf peered up to see the damage, his eyes crossed with the effort. "I'll deal with that problem later, but not until I know you won't destroy them again." He filled the pipe with more leaves and held it a bit further away from his face. "Let's try that again, shall we? And just the way I instructed this time, please?"

Following Jace's direction to the letter, the pirate's second attempt was much more successful. He still scorched the leaf, but he managed not to catch anyone on fire and the elfroot was at least smokable, if not a bit on the bitter and burnt side. Garrett vowed to perform the spell perfectly by the time they returned to Redcliffe, even if he had to burn his entire supply in the effort. He hated being embarrassed almost as much as he detested getting things wrong. His innate stubbornness and driving need for perfection wouldn't allow him to fail, especially not in something that seemed so simple on the surface.

The elf shifted his weight and lit his own pipe. "It's been many years since I taught anyone to use magic, and even longer since I taught anyone with as much potential and as bullheaded as you. I think I'll rather enjoy this challenge."

"I'll try not to disappoint," Garrett told him with an impish smirk. "On the challenge part, I mean."

Jace laughed. "Of that, my boy, I have no doubt." He blew a ring of smoke into the air and smiled. "I remember teaching my eighth husband how to do that. Wonderful man, Lucas."

" _Eighth_ husband?" the pirate gaped. "Just how many times have you been married, there, mate?"

The elf didn't hesitate even a moment in his answer. "Including my first two wives, twenty, with several lovers in between. After my second wife left me and I went into seclusion, I swore I'd never love again. It wasn't worth it."

"I certainly know that feeling, mate," Garrett interrupted. "Been down that road a time or two, myself."

"But I was wrong," Jace admitted. "Just as you are wrong, my boy. I spent far too much time alone and wallowing in my own misery. It took a few thousand years and the love of a good woman to change my way of thinking. To learn that love is a gift not to be squandered, something real and wonderful to hold onto with all you have. Sure, it was heartbreaking to watch them all grow old and die, but the brief time we shared together was certainly worth it."

The pirate was beginning to sense the elf was giving him a lecture more than telling a story. The same one Bryce gave him after Maggie broke his heart. Garrett didn't need Jace's advice on the subject any more than he needed his dad's. For some people, love was a grand and glorious thing, but the captain was convinced it was something never meant for a man like himself. How could the pain of a broken heart ever be "worth it"?

"That's all well and good for you, mate, but I think I'll stick with my ship. She's faithful and true, protects me. Just a gentle touch of my hands, and she dances across the waves, with all the grace of a ballerina, just for me. And every night, when I go to bed, she holds me and rocks me to sleep. I never have to worry about her betraying me or leaving me. She's always there when I need her. There's no jealousy or malice. No hard or hurt feelings to be had. And someday, when my time here is over, she'll carry me to my final rest. What could be better than that?"

Jace arched a brow. "Well, for one thing, I can't imagine your ship's much of a conversationalist."

"You couldn't be more wrong, mate," the pirate argued with a wistful smile. "Every groan, every pop and crack is her speaking to me, telling me what she needs or how content she is. And the way she sings with the hum of the winds and the rhythm of the waves backing her tune. There was never more beautiful music to be heard than the songs of my lady."

The elf's shoulders shook with a small chuckle. "You know, you remind me a lot of myself. After my wife left, I holed up in the most magnificent place. You've never seen anywhere with more green or more beautiful flowers. Nature provided everything I needed. I never wanted for anything. The sun warmed my body and soul during the day, and, at night, cool breezes caressed my skin as I slept. The song of rustling trees and fluttering grass eased my burdens. It was my oasis, my sanctuary, but it was also my prison. I locked myself, my heart, away and it took me more than two millennia to realize that.

"When my curiosity got the better of me, and I finally allowed myself to venture beyond the borders of that place, it was only supposed to be a short trek. Just a quick glimpse to find out whatever became of my old home. What I found left me disillusioned, saddened. I decided to go back to my paradise and stay there for good. That was when I met Raina, and that one meeting changed my life forever.

"She owned a little tavern just south of the Tevinter border. I stopped in to have a glass of wine just as she was getting ready to close up for the night. We started talking, and the next thing I knew, the sun was coming up. That's when I realized just how lonely I'd been all that time. How much I missed companionship. Oh, I resisted at first. I told myself I wasn't getting into that situation again, but when I returned to my hideaway, I found that I wanted to go back. No, I needed to go back. For weeks I struggled against it, but, in the end, I returned to her and spent the next forty years happier than I'd ever been in my long life."

Garrett's eyes trailed from his pipe to Miri, and his heart began to beat faster when he recalled the kiss they shared the previous evening. His gaze then moved to Solona, who greeted his attention with one of her rare smiles. He considered what his life would be like when the Blight was over, when he returned to his ship alone. His heart sank into his stomach at that notion.

 _No. It'll never work. It never works._

He needed to get away from Jace, to clear his head before he started buying into the elf's bullshit. "It's a right pretty story, mate. And I'd love to hear more, but it looks like we need more wood for the fire."

"Of course," the elf said with an unexpected grin. "But you shouldn't venture out into the forest alone. It's getting dark. We wouldn't want you to get lost out there."

He raised his hand and waved Miriana over. What was that bastard playing at? Garrett glowered at Jace, but the other man either didn't notice or chose to ignore the gesture.

"What can I do for you, Master Jace?" the young mage asked.

"The captain seems to think we need more wood for the fire. Would you be a dear and accompany him? He's new to his gift and your magic would be most effective in helping him find his way back."

She chewed her lower lip and nodded. "Of course. If Garrett doesn't mind, that is."

When her timid gaze met his, Garrett couldn't help but agree. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. He still owed her an apology, after all. Being alone in the woods would give him ample opportunity to ask her forgiveness away from prying ears. The pirate stood and presented her with a low bow and a smile.

"It would be an honor, love."


	43. Two Days

Miriana continued to clench her bottom lip between her teeth as she and Garrett traipsed through the quickly darkening forest foraging for wood. No words were spoken between them, and she would have given almost anything to know what he was thinking. He was very gracious in his agreement to her accompanying him, but his silence after they left Master Jace was both deafening and telling of his mood. Was he still upset over her rejection the previous evening? Or had he forgotten the entire thing completely and was merely ignoring her presence because he'd rather have Solona there? After what felt like an eternity, he finally dropped the bundle at his feet and turned to her, his brow creased with a frown.

"I feel I owe you an apology for my behavior last night. I was a complete ass, and, drunk or not, there's no excuse for me forcing myself on you like that."

Miri stared down at her boots and began to shuffle the leaves beneath them with her toe. "It's alright. I…I didn't mind. Not really."

" _Tell him, Miriana,"_ Faith's voice echoed in her head. " _Tell him how you feel. You never know what will happen if you don't take a chance."_

Her eyes trailed up the captain's body until she met his gaze in the glow of the orb she carried. He was stunning, perfect. Her hand moved to his cheek as if it were being controlled by someone else. The feel of the beard beneath her fingertips was much softer than she imagined. When his lips curved into an uneven smile, Miri's skin grew warmer and her knees buckled.

"I love you," she blurted in a breathless voice.

Garrett blinked several times, as if her were trying to register the words she spoke. His throat constricted with a hard gulp and his lips trembled, but he retained his silence, continuing to stare at her with a dumbfounded expression. He didn't return the sentiment, and he was trying to discern a way to let her down without hurting her too badly.

 _Stupid, stupid, stupid! What in the Maker's name were you thinking? Of course he doesn't love you._

She backed away and returned her gaze to her feet. She didn't want him to see her tears. He surely felt bad enough about the situation already. She didn't want to make it worse. Somehow, she had to say something to make it better, but what? What in the void would ever make _that_ better?

"Miri," he began.

She wanted to run, but couldn't move her legs. Why hadn't she worked more on her primal magic? If she had, she could open up a hole in the ground and bury herself right then and there. Why couldn't she just keep her fool mouth shut? She knew better. He was a pirate, a man who most likely had beautiful women throwing themselves at him all the time. He was bedding her twin sister, for Andraste's sake. What made her even consider for a moment he would be interested in a girl like her?

There was a tug at her spirit, leaving her with the sensation of being trapped in a body she couldn't control. She felt her legs move, but not under her own volition. Her arms rose from her sides to take hold of Garrett's hands.

"It's alright," she heard herself say. "I understand if you don't feel the same. I don't expect a thing from you, and I will never ask more from you than what you're willing to give. I just needed you to know."

The pirate searched her eyes, his brows furrowed in contemplation, then placed his hands on her cheeks before lowering his mouth to hers in a long, slow kiss. The moment their lips touched, Miriana regained control, leaving her to wonder if she loved or hated Faith for the spirit's meddling.

When he finally backed away from her, Garrett grabbed the bundle of wood from the ground and hefted it to his chest. "We should get back before they send out a search party."

The kiss was marvelous, but the captain was obviously no more in love with her than he was Alistair or Sithig. Her guts twisted with the knowledge that he would never return her feelings. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words eluded her. Instead, she simply nodded in agreement and turned on her heel to walk back to camp with Garrett following closely behind.

* * *

Solona was just sitting down to supper next to the fire when Garrett and Miriana emerged from the treeline wearing forlorn frowns. Whatever had taken place between them in that forest was obviously unpleasant. The Warden smiled to herself at that notion. She didn't want to see either of them in pain, but after the kiss they shared the previous evening, she was a bit worried about them being alone together. She cursed her jealous nature, but she couldn't help it. Just as it had been with Anders, she held no claims on Garrett, but that didn't prevent her from feeling possessive over him.

After dumping the bundle of wood in his arms by the pit, the pirate took the plate Bodahn prepared for him and immediately made his way over to where Alistair sat. Solona considered joining the two men, but given the expression on Garrett's face, she was fairly certain her company wouldn't be appreciated at that moment. Her gaze turned to her sister, who was taking her meal to her tent with firelight reflecting from her glimmering cheeks.

Solona had seen that look too many times in her nineteen years. She'd bore it herself more times than she cared to count. Miriana was suffering from a broken heart, just as her sister knew she would. The Warden's first instinct was to storm over to where Garrett sat and give him a piece of her mind for hurting her twin, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. She tried to warn Miri, to keep her from falling into the same trap she found herself in, but her sister apparently didn't listen. She only hoped Miriana was smarter than she had been and learned the harsh lesson well enough to move on.

When she finished her supper, Solona ambled her way to Miri's tent and stopped outside long enough to hear her sister's sobs from within. She placed her hand on the canvas flap and heaved a sigh, but chose to go to her own tent rather than enter her sister's. Considering the fact that she was bedding the pirate every night, Solona doubted Miri would want her to be the one to try to comfort her. Instead, she moved on to her own shelter, crawled inside, and readied herself for her lover's arrival.

The mage was unsure how much time had passed, but it seemed like hours before she finally drifted off to sleep alone. Sometime later, she was awoken by the sensation of a soft kiss on her cheek.

"Are you awake, love?" Garrett whispered in a husky voice, the scent of rum and elfroot heavy on his breath.

"I am now," she cooed as she drew him in for a soft kiss.

Garrett's calloused fingers were gentle as they explored her body, every touch, every kiss more tender than they had ever been before. When he finally entered her and began to move with slow, rhythmic strokes, he stared into her eyes, his own filled with quiet desperation.

 _Tell me you love me. Just once. You don't have to mean it. I just need to hear the words._

When he lowered his head to kiss her, she ran her hands up his spine to his head and entangled her fingers in his ebony hair. Try as she might, she couldn't get close enough to him. Her mind and soul were spinning with emotion as she threw her legs around his waist and her body began to shudder through her climax. He pulled back to lock eyes with her again as he surrendered to his own orgasm. In her ecstasy and turmoil, the words she never meant to say slipped from her tongue.

"I love you."

His lips quivered and his breath released in quick, sharp gasps. He appeared terrified in the light of her unintended confession. After what seemed an eternity, he exhaled a ragged sigh.

"I love you, too," he panted before pressing his lips to hers with a passion she never knew existed within any man.

* * *

Alistair stood next to Solona's tent in stunned silence. He wasn't trying to pry. He was just making his way to the fire to relieve Sithig from his watch when he heard his fellow Warden tell Garrett she loved him. It took several moments before he was able to will himself to breathe again. It was over. If he ever had a chance with Solona, it just passed him by.

He wanted to be angry with Garrett, but he couldn't. It wasn't the pirate's fault Alistair was too much of a coward to reveal his feelings for the mage. At first, he worried his friend would be like Anders and refuse to return the sentiment, but a few moments later revealed that wasn't the case at all. Besides, it wasn't as if Alistair and Solona could ever have a lasting relationship. She was a mage and he was going to be king. It would have never work out. Perhaps Garrett would give her the love she deserved, the love Alistair wished he could. He was happy for her, truly, but he was miserable for himself.

After wiping the tears from his eyes, and straightening his shoulders, the prince walked the remaining distance to the central fire where Sithig greeted him with an uneasy smile. "Are you alright, my friend?"

Alistair nodded. "I'm fine, Sithig. You should probably go get some sleep."

"Are you certain?" the Avvar asked. "I could stay and talk, if you like."

"No, I think I'd rather just be alone for a while, if you don't mind."

The large man's brow pleated with concern. "Of course, my friend. You know where to find me if you change your mind."

Alistair clapped his hand over his fellow Warden's bicep with an appreciative nod. "Thanks, Sithig."

When the Avvar took his leave, Alistair sat on the fallen log the larger man pulled next to the firepit and removed his sword from its sheath. As he ran the whetstone over the blade, he recalled the evening he taught Solona to use that sword. He then thought of Ostagar and the night of the battle. Where would they be if he had taken the chance and kissed her the way he wanted? Would he be the one she professed her love to?

He waggled his head to shake away the foolish notion. She didn't see him that way. She never did. It was for the best, anyway. He had to keep telling himself that to stem the flow of tears that threatened to fall anew.

The sound of rustling canvas roused him from his introspection. He turned his head in time to spy Miriana brush dirt from the front of her robes. Despite his pitiable mood, he couldn't help but smile at the sight of her. He expected her to turn toward the line of trees for a late night privy call. Instead, she headed straight for the fire and stood next to him, chewing her lower lip. The area around her eyes was puffy and red from crying, while her lapis irises glistened brilliantly in the glow of the flame. Her shoulders rose and fell with a labored sniffle, making her effort to quell her own tears quite obvious.

"Would you mind if I sit with you?" she asked in a timid voice. "It's too cold to sleep."

Alistair patted the area of wood next to him. "Sure."

As he sheathed his sword and tucked the whetstone back into the pouch at his belt, Miri sat down and folded her arms over her chest. Her entire body shivered as if she caught a chill, the chattering of her teeth competing with crackles and pops of the fire. For the first time, he noticed that her robes weren't made of wool like the ones the Ferelden mages wore, but of lightweight cotton and linen that was better suited for the temperate climate of the Free Marches not the harsh weather in the south.

"I'll be right back," he promised before hurrying to his tent.

Once inside his shelter, he grabbed the thick blanket from atop his sleep sack and the extra he kept in his pack, rolled them in a ball, and tucked them under his arm. When he returned to the fire, he shook the coverlets out and draped them across Miriana's shoulders one at a time. Once cocooned within, she peered up at him with a grateful smile.

"Thank you. I thought I might freeze to death. The weather here is so different than in Ostwick."

"Yes," he agreed. "While everywhere else in Thedas has spring, summer, autumn, and winter, in Ferelden we have: _Is the snow ever going to melt?_ ; _Hey, I'm not freezing to death; Damn, I'm freezing again;_ and _Holy shit, my eyeballs just turned into chunks of ice._ "

Miri sputtered with laughter and immediately covered her mouth. "None of that," Alistair told her as he pulled her hand away from her face and held it in his gloved fingers. "I told you before, a smile as beautiful as yours should never be hidden."

 _Well, there's a sure fire way to get her to return to her tent. Way to go, jackass._

Her gaze dropped to the ground next to her feet. "There's nothing beautiful about me. Solona…Solona's the beautiful one."

He cupped her chin between his fingers and turned her face, urging her to look him in the eyes. She was so lovely, so kind. Once again, he had to fight the urge to take her into his arms and kiss her. As much as he loved Solona, he found himself quickly falling for her sister as well. Was it even possible to have those feelings for more than one person?

Possible or not, he couldn't stop the direction his emotions were taking him in at that moment. Besides, any chance he had at a relationship with Solona was gone. Driving all thoughts of his fellow Warden away, Alistair allowed himself to become lost in Miriana's lapis gaze.

"You're right. Solona _is_ beautiful," he said before wetting his suddenly overly dry lips. "Please don't hurt me too badly for being overly forward, but so are you. Very beautiful."

Her cheeks flushed crimson as her mouth curved into a shy smile. "I'd never hurt you, Alistair. You're quickly becoming the best friend I've ever had."

 _Damn! I've done it again. I really am terrible at this._

The prince dropped his hand to his lap and did his best to ensure she didn't recognize the disappointment her words evoked in him. "And I would never hurt you, not intentionally, anyway…Or unintentionally…if I can help it."

 _Damn, jackass! Just shut the void up. You sound like a bloody idiot._

 _"_ I hope you know that," he concluded, praying his oral diarrhea was at an end.

She tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. "I know you won't. You're a wonderful man. You're going to make some lucky woman very happy one day."

 _But not you, apparently._

He sat back in an attempt to put as much distance between them as possible without making it obvious, ran his tongue over his lips, and cleared his throat. "So, tell me more about this friend of yours. Julia, was it?"

Miriana's lower lip jutted with a slight pout as she turned her attention to the fire. She seemed disappointed over something, though Alistair couldn't hazard a guess as to what. Perhaps it was his question. Of course it was his question. The only times Miri ever spoke of the girl, it was quite clear their relationship was less than ideal. In his nervousness, he just asked the first thing that came to mind. Somehow, he had to salvage the situation.

He moved in closer and took her hand again. "Look, I'm sorry. Sometimes I say things without thinking. I didn't mean to upset you."

When she turned her gaze back to his, he could have sworn he saw a flash of silver within the lapis. He blinked several times, but didn't see it again, then dismissed the image as a trick of the firelight. She brushed her hair away from her face with her free hand and shrugged.

"It's not that," she said, her soft voice slightly deeper than her usual airy tone. "I was just hoping…Well…"

When she leaned in closer and touched her lips to his, Alistair was unsure what he should do. He had only been engaged in two kisses before that moment, and neither lasted very long. The feel of her soft lips moving slowly against his compelled him to close his eyes and give in to the urge to pull her closer. His hand moved to her cheek and he sighed with contentment when her tongue grazed his, inviting him to deepen the kiss.

Alistair prayed it would never end, that he could hold her like that, kiss her, forever. He no longer cared about the darkspawn nor the Blight. His duty to the crown, Garrett and Solona, the whole world was forgotten in that moment in time. The only thing that mattered was Miriana.

The prince was left breathless when she finally pulled away from his embrace, as if the very air were sucked from his lungs. Her lower lip immediately disappeared between her teeth and her face twisted with consternation. Alistair's shoulders drooped as miniscule cracks formed across the surface of his heart. Why would she kiss him like that if she didn't mean it? Why would she kiss him at all?

"I'm sorry," she squeaked. "I…I…"

He waggled his head. "No, I'm the one who should apologize. I guess I got a bit carried away. It's just…" His shoulders heaved with a labored sigh. He wanted to tell her he was falling in love with her, that he would have given anything to believe she felt the same way. "It doesn't matter."

"I think…" She shrugged the blankets from her shoulders and held them out for him to take. "I should probably go back to my tent now."

Alistair took them from her hands and draped them back over her. "Keep them. Please."

"Alright," she said with a nod. "If you're sure."

Tears began to form in the prince's eyes. A large part of him wanted her to stay, but if she was determined to leave, he would prefer she not see him cry. He forced a smile.

"You need them more than I do. Besides, I've got another one in my tent."

"Thank you. I'll return them in the morning."

He turned his gaze to the fire and shrugged, hoping the gesture was nonchalant enough to fool her. "Whenever. No hurry."

The moment he heard her tent flap settle, Alistair allowed the floodgates to open. He should have known better. He should have pulled away from her the moment that kiss began. Once again, his inexperience and hastiness got the better of him. Perhaps he was just destined to be alone, to never know what it felt like to love someone who felt the same for him.

 _You're a fool, Alistair Theirin. A right ruddy fool._

* * *

When Garrett woke the next morning, he expected to be alone, as usual, but found Solona curled tight against him with her cheek pressed into his chest. He winced when he recalled the declarations of love they spoke to each other, but the expression faded the moment he heard his lover's sigh of contentment as her arms tightened around him. Smiling down at the woman, he kissed the top of her head and pulled her closer to his chest.

"Good morning, love," he whispered.

She peered up at him, worry marking her brilliant lapis eyes. She was going to take it back, tell him she didn't really mean the words she said to him. Garrett could feel his heart cracking within his chest, ready to shatter the moment she confessed it had all been a mistake.

"I realize you were intoxicated last night," she began. "I also realize some things may have been said in the heat of passion that…"

The pirate covered her lips with the tip of his index finger and shook his head with a pained expression. "If you didn't mean it, love, I understand, but could you give me just a bit longer to enjoy the lie."

Her brows furrowed with confusion. "I don't understand, Garrett. What do you mean by, 'enjoy the lie'?"

He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath before slowly releasing it, doing his level best to will away the tears that threatened to fall. After swallowing past a large knot in his throat, he finally opened his lids to face the consequences of the truth he could no longer deny.

"I mean, I meant every word I said, every single bloody time I said it. You told me from the beginning you weren't interested in anything more than sex, but, like a bloody fool, I went and let it go to my head, to my heart. I've been fighting these feelings since that first night we spent together, but I can't do it anymore. I love you, Solona. Spirits help me, I love you. If you're trying to tell me you don't love me, that's fine, but give a man a few minutes before you break his heart."

The mage's chest heaved against his, as if she couldn't catch her breath. The space between her brows disappeared, and her lips quivered as her nails dug into the backs of his shoulders. Her eyes searched his for a long moment. "I do love you, Garrett. I was just trying to give you a way out…in case _you_ didn't mean it."

He caressed her cheek with the flat of his thumb, while the corners of his mouth curled into an angular smile. "Then, I guess we've both turned out to be liars, but I'm surprisingly okay with that. As long as I've got you in my life, love."

He lowered his lips to press against hers in a long, slow kiss. As much as he was loathe to admit it, and as much pain as he'd endured over love's past failures, confessing his feelings to Solona just felt right. The shattered heart he once thought dead thundered with renewed purpose and hope. The old fears of another relationship ending badly crept into his mind, but he buried them beneath the salty taste of his lover's kiss and the sensation of her body pressed against his.

When he pulled away to bask in her beauty, he recognized trepidation reflected in the pools of lapis staring back at him. He recalled the story she told him of Anders and how he broke her heart by running away time and again. She was frightened, scared he would do the same thing to her. She didn't have to say it. It was written in her eyes.

His expression grew serious as his fingers stroked her dark hair. "Before this goes any further, however, there's one thing I think you should know. One very important thing."

"What's that?" she asked, her face and voice darkened with concern.

"I may be a pirate and prone to extravagant lies at times, but there's one thing I'll never lie to you about, lass. I will _never_ run away from you or turn my back on you. You're stuck with me now. No matter where life takes us or how far apart we may be, I'll never be gone for good. Not until they sink me to the bottom of the sea."

A sly grin spread over her face. "You better make good on that promise. Pirate or no, I'll make you regret the day you were born if you don't."

"I'll put myself to the blade before I ever break that oath, love," he swore.

…..

While they packed their things away to ready for the day's journey, Garrett and Solona remained reticent in their task, choosing to display their affections in sidelong glances and the occasional smile. Before leaving their tent for the morning meal, they agreed to keep their newly professed feelings for each other a secret, at least until they returned to Redcliffe. Solona reasoned it was because she was afraid the news would finally send Cullen over the deep end, but Garrett got the impression it had more to do with Alistair than anything else.

Since the day they became stuck in the Fade together, the pirate knew there was more between the two Wardens than either would admit. He'd be a fool not to notice the way Solona stared at the prince when she thought no one was looking, and a blind nug could see how much Alistair cared for the mage through the goofy smiles he tried to hide when she was near. The captain tried to abide by Wynne's wishes to keep the two of them apart, but it was difficult knowing that doing so was hurting them both.

The pirate felt like a bit of a heel, professing his love to Solona, knowing how Alistair felt about her, but Garrett couldn't help it, he loved her too. The worst of it, though, was Miri. He was completely stunned by her confession. He wanted to return the sentiment, he really did. The words were right on his tongue, but his fear and stubborn pride wouldn't allow him to speak them. Instead, he transferred those feelings, what he meant to say, with a kiss. He didn't try to hide it, he simply couldn't say it.

The truth of the matter was, he wouldn't have confessed his love for Solona either if the circumstances had been different. If he hadn't been quite so intoxicated, if they hadn't been making love at the moment she made the confession first, things would have turned out very differently. In the morning light, the fear and doubt that plagued him for years skulked around his heart the way they always had, but he wouldn't allow himself to regret what was said.

As much as he loved Solona, he loved Miri, just as deeply and equally, but he wasn't fool enough to believe he could ever be with both. A pang of sorrow gripped his heart with that notion. What was really so wrong in loving both women? If it was so terrible, such an impossibility, why did he feel it to the depths of his soul? Up until the moment he said the words aloud, he had been losing his mind trying to figure out what to do about his feelings for the sisters. Apparently the spirits, either ethereal or alcoholic, decided to choose for him, but making that choice at all cut him to the quick. The very idea of being without or hurting either of them burned like acid in his gut.

As they continued their journey to Honnleath throughout the remainder of that day, Miri stayed as far away from Garrett as possible. Whenever he went anywhere near her, she managed to skirt her way around to another position either several yards ahead or behind him. He wanted to apologize to her, to try to find a way to lessen her pain. He could have caught up to her, persuaded her to listen, but his own fear prevented him from making the effort. He simply didn't trust himself not to tell her how he felt. Deep down, he knew one more kiss, one more time becoming lost in her gaze, would be his undoing. No matter how much he wished for things to be different, he just couldn't take that chance.

* * *

As the Wardens' march to the south progressed, so did Miriana's confusion. She spent the entire day avoiding everyone else as much as possible. That especially held true for Garrett and Alistair. She completely humiliated herself with her errant confession to the pirate, and her behavior with the prince the previous evening was almost as bad.

It was all Faith's fault, every bit of it. The one constant companion that had been with her almost her entire life had begun to betray her in the worst ways imaginable. The worst part of it was the fact that the spirit was unabashedly unapologetic over all the trouble she caused. Miri would have never kissed Alistair like that if it hadn't been for Faith. Just as she had with Garrett in the woods, the spirit took over when the mage was alone with the prince, leaving Miri to clean up the mess.

The most vexing part was, Miriana's emotions were in complete turmoil in the wake of Faith's tampering. Since the day she met Alistair, the mage struggled with her conflicting feelings for the prince. He was the most genuinely kind person she ever met. He was charming, gentle, funny, handsome, and sweet. The type of man most women would give anything and everything to be with, but Miri was in love with Garrett. It wasn't possible for her to be in love with Alistair too. Was it?

 _Forget it Miri. It isn't as if either one of them would have you, anyway._

Just as she had the night before, Miriana ate her supper in the confines of her tent. It wasn't as if anyone would miss her presence anyway, and Faith's incessant whisperings in the recesses of her mind throughout the day had left the girl with an agonizing headache. If only there was a way to control the spirit or, at the very least, tune it out. Perhaps Wynne knew something that would help, anything would have to be an improvement on the way things were going.

When she finished her meal, Miri left her shelter long enough to scrape and wash her plate and fork, then returned to her tent. With Lumia's aid, she retrieved a book from her pack and her spectacles from her pocket and began to reread about the adventures of Gerard. By the time she got a chapter in, her head was pounding so badly, she was forced to put the book down and shut her eyes. As Miri attempted to use magic to take the edge off her malady, Faith's voice grew louder and more insistent.

 _Why are you hiding in here, reading silly stories about people who do not exist, when your heart lies beyond this shelter?_

The mage heaved a sigh. "I appreciate your concern, Faith, but I doubt I would be good company for anyone in my present condition."

 _The camp is quiet now, and I believe Alistair has first watch for the evening._

Miri shook her head against the pillow. "I don't think he would appreciate seeing me after what happened last night. I'm not sure if I hurt his feelings or if he was completely disgusted and too nice to tell me so. Besides, I'm in love with Garrett. I feel bad enough about professing my love for him-and thank you oh so much for that, by the way-then kissing Alistair on the same night."

 _You have sown the seeds by revealing your true feelings for Garrett. Now that he knows…_

"He doesn't care," Miri huffed. "He's with my sister, in case you hadn't noticed."

 _He cares more than you know, Miriana. I can sense it. Now it is time for you to tell Alistair the truth. You love him, as well._

"No, I refuse to take the chance of humiliating myself with Alistair the way I did with Garrett."

 _Then I shall just have to take the chance for you._

* * *

Alistair's stomach began to turn somersaults when he spied Miriana making her way over to him, and for a moment, he was worried he might vomit. Torn between his longing to spend time with her and his chagrin over the previous evening's events, he wasn't sure if he should stay where he was or run away.

No matter how he tried to put her out of his mind during their travels that day, he just couldn't manage it. Nearly every thought he had was about Miri and the kiss they shared. Questions about why rattled around in his brain so much, he feared he would go insane. Was it possible she actually cared for him? Was it just to get his reaction? Or was it simply a ploy to make Garrett jealous? As far as Alistair was aware, Miriana didn't have a clue as to what was said between the pirate and her sister. Perhaps she was merely trying to find a way to win the man's heart through Alistair telling stories about what took place between them.

Without begging his pardon, Miriana took a seat next to the prince then passed the blankets she borrowed to him. "I thought I should return those to you."

"Thank you," he said, putting them off to the side.

She cleared her throat and turned her knees toward him. "I also wanted to apologize for my wretched behavior yesterday evening. It was cruel and childish of me to retreat to my tent without explanation."

Alistair ran his tongue over his lips and scowled. He hadn't known Miri long, but her words and behavior seemed off. Just as it had the night before, her voice held a deeper undertone and he noticed specks of silver within her lapis eyes in place of gold. An uneasy feeling began to rise within him, but he chose to ignore it in order to hear her out.

"No need for apologies. If you'd like, I'd be willing to pretend it never happened and forget the whole thing."

It was a lie of course. He could never forget the feel of her lips on his and the softness of her skin. It would be forever ingrained in his mind and carved into his soul.

She took his hands and smiled. "That is not what I want, Alistair. The truth is, I am in love with Garrett. I have been for quite some time."

Alistair swallowed past a large lump in his throat. He knew the truth of her words, but hearing them spoken aloud was much more difficult than he ever imagined. He began to wonder if her kindness was simply a disguise, like Solona's indifference. If so, she was an expert at wearing it. Even he was fooled.

Her smile broadened. "But…I am also in love with you."

The prince's heart stopped. He felt dizzy, as if the entire world began spinning out of control. No one had ever spoken those words to him before in his life. No one.

"W…w…what?" he finally managed. "Did…did you just say you were in l…love with me?"

"I did," she affirmed. "Last night, I questioned what took place between us because of my feelings for Garrett. I only hope you will not hold that against me."

Tears began to well up in Alistair's eyes as he shook his head. How could he ever hold it against Miriana when he was in love with Garrett himself?

 _Damn. I'm in love with Garrett. And Solona. And Miri. I must be the most fucked up person in all of creation._

Miri's soft hand gracing his cheek drove away every other thought from his head. She loved him. For the first time in his life, someone actually loved him. He removed the glove from his right hand and caressed the side of her face with his fingertips.

"I love you too, Miri," he whispered then pulled her in for a soft kiss.


	44. Returning Home

Weak from hunger, cold, and an infection that had set into his injured leg, Anders struggled along through the dense forest, praying the darkspawn wouldn't sniff him out. He had no clue where he was or even where he was headed. He just knew he needed to stay out of the creatures' path.

He spent two days holed up in the high branches of a pine tree waiting for the beasts to disperse long enough for him to get away unscathed. It was a safe enough hiding place until he slipped and fell as he was climbing down from his perch earlier that morning, which did nothing to ease the ever-increasing agony of his inadequately-healed break. Not to mention the fact that he was positive the spill he took added at least a broken arm and cracked rib to his list of injuries. Even on his best days, it was difficult to heal his own maladies. In his current state of utter depletion, it was impossible. Elfroot would certainly help ease his suffering, but he used the last of what he had in his possession two days prior and was unable to locate any more.

The sound of rushing water resonating through the forest brought renewed hope to the doomed healer's waning heart. It was too loud to be a small brook, which meant a river, and rivers attracted settlers. If there was a village nearby, maybe he could find some fool woman to take pity on him and offer him food and shelter for a few nights, perhaps she would even agree to treat his injuries.

With a deep breath and renewed purpose, he scrambled toward the sound while formulating a feasible story for his wretched state. Accosted by bandits who beat him and stole his belongings. That was believable enough, especially given the desperation caused by the Blight.

The healer stumbled out into a clearing only to topple off a steep riverbank and into the water where his knees slammed against the sharp rocks in the shallows. His lids slammed shut against the excruciating torment as he clenched his lips between his teeth to keep himself from screaming. While his head began spinning, his stomach convulsed as waves of acid making their way up his throat burned to the void.

When he opened his eyes, his blurred vision revealed tendrils of crimson being carried away by the water flowing across ripped trousers and bare, bony knees. Gritting his teeth, the healer peered up to see the top of what appeared to be a windmill in the distance, but it was difficult to make out through the stinging tears clouding his view.

After struggling to his feet, he sloshed through the water, praying it wasn't deep enough to sweep him away. Fortunately, at its highest point, the river only reached his waist, and he somehow managed to keep his balance enough to make it across. On the other side, he clambered up the bank and allowed himself only a moment's rest to catch his breath before continuing on.

Several minutes later, he came to the back of a burned out house with a dilapidated barn to its left. Panic welled up inside him as his heart thundered within his chest.

 _No. Maker fuck, NO! It can't be._

Dragging the foot of his broken leg across the scorched, dead grass, he headed toward the outbuilding but stopped in his tracks when he spotted the gaping hole in its roof and another hole in its side just large enough to fit the frame of an overly tall and lanky twelve-year-old boy. Without thought to his injuries, he dropped to his knees in a sobbing and crippled heap.

Of all the places in Thedas he could have wandered into, why that one? The one he'd avoided like the plague every time he escaped the Circle. The one he swore he'd never look upon again after learning of his mother's demise. He gazed up at the overcast sky with helpless, red-rimmed eyes.

 _Do you really hate me this much?_

As if in answer to his question, a large drop of frozen rain pelted the healer square in the forehead. He tried to pull himself up to a standing position so he could find shelter, but found himself unable to move his leg. That was when the rain and hail began to fall in earnest, leaving Anders to finally realize he had been completely forsaken; by the Maker, by his own body, by life itself.

He stared at the barn through sheets of ice for a long moment. He needed to get out of the elements if he was to have any chance of survival at all, and the outbuilding was within crawling distance. His heart pounded in his ears and throat as he wrestled with a past he struggled every day to forget.

The clink of ice hitting glass caught his attention, propelling him to examine the hole in the side of the barn where he spotted an empty whiskey bottle. The memory of his father ordering him to the hayloft and what always took place there wrenched at his guts until he was dry heaving onto the icy ground. No. He couldn't do it. He'd rather die a million slow, painful deaths than ever enter that Maker-forsaken barn again.

Surveying the surrounding area, his gaze fell upon the home he shared with his parents so long ago. His only joy came in the notion that the old man may have perished in the blaze that destroyed the house. It was no better than he deserved. Anders only hoped that Maker-fucking bastard's death was painful.

The entire structure was a crumbling mess. The thatched roof was completely gone, as was the entire northern half of the house. The front door's threshold was still in place, however, as well as two exterior walls on the southern half of the building. Within the room he once occupied, stood two small bed frames with what appeared to be charred, but intact mattresses. If he could make it that far, perhaps those mattresses would offer enough shelter to get him through the worst of the storm.

Mustering all the fortitude he still possessed, the healer crawled across the lawn and into the house, continuing until he reached the first bed frame. Under it, he found a dirty wool dress that looked to be a serving girl's uniform. It reeked of smoke and must, but it was still better than the blanket the templars provided him with in the dungeon. He curled beneath it as best he could, feeling almost warm for the first time since he escaped Kinloch.

His fingers grazed a lump within the folds of the frock. Curious, the mage ran his hand across the material until he located the opening of a deep pocket. Inside, he found a piece of hardtack, a short strip of salted pork and a stale brownie wrapped in cheesecloth. As much as he wanted to inhale the impromptu feast, the healer kept enough of his wits to realize it might be a while before he saw any more food. So, he appeased his growling stomach with half a piece of tack and placed the rest back in the pocket for later.

When his ration was gone, the mage lay back and closed his eyes for some much-needed rest. As he drifted off to sleep, for the first time in a long time, he started to believe that he might actually survive his ordeal. Maybe the Maker hadn't forsaken him after all.

* * *

Honnleath was crawling with all manner of tainted creatures when the Wardens finally arrived around dusk the next evening. Hurlocks, genlocks, ogres, and shrieks roamed freely through the paths of the small hamlet, leaving havoc in their wake. Against Solona's orders, Cullen rushed off alone to the house he inhabited as a child in an effort to find his family. The commander dispatched Sithig to watch over the templar and cursed the Chantry knight for forcing her to send her best warrior from the heaviest point of battle. She wouldn't admit it to anyone else, especially Garrett, but she did care for Cullen, and she certainly didn't want to see him dead.

"They weren't there," he shouted over the din upon finally joining the fray. "Not even a sign of them."

Alistair, who was standing back to back with Solona, shoved the end of his sword through the gut of a hurlock. "Maybe they fled before the darkspawn invaded. Twelve!"

"Don't you think there's a better time and place for this discussion?" the commander questioned as she sliced the head off a genlock with her lightning-enchanted blade. "Twelve! And you can't count that ogre. It took both you and Garrett to take that bastard down."

Solona was baiting him, of course. From the moment she spotted him that morning, Alistair had been more chipper than she'd seen him since before Ostagar, maybe even ever. Something had certainly lightened his mood, as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Something or someone. The commander couldn't help but notice the way her fellow Warden and her sister exchanged sidelong glances and dopey grins. They had certainly spent a good deal of time with each other since they met. Was it possible they decided to take their budding friendship a bit further?

The prince pivoted on the ball of his left foot, bashed another genlock in the side with his shield, then drove the tip of his longsword through the center of its ear as it toppled to the ground. "Thirteen! And I dealt the final blow, so I _can_ count it."

He was even cockier than usual with his kills and more insistent in his arguments. Something was definitely bolstering his pride. Solona's gut wrenched with a stab of jealousy. Alistair was in love with her sister. Why Miri and not her?

"I beg to differ there, mate," Garrett argued as his cutlasses scissored through a hurlock's gut, cleaving it in half. "Fourteen! I was the one who knocked that big bastard off its feet."

Solona couldn't help but smile when she spied the captain out of the corner of her eye. His skill, his confidence, his rakish charm, not to mention his rugged good looks, all rolled together in one magnificent package of arrogance. And he was hers, truly hers.

"You got it in the back of the knee," Alistair contended, kicking away the last of the beasts onto the edge of Sithig's greatsword. "That hardly counts."

The prince was in great form. Solona had never seen him fight with such ferocity or finesse. She was glad he was happy. He was her best friend. That's how one was supposed to feel when their best friend found happiness, wasn't it?

"So I suppose you're going to count that one, too?" she asked, wiping her blade clean on her last kill's armor. "Thirteen."

Her tone was harsher than she intended, but she couldn't contain her growing hostility. She had known him longer than Miri. In the short time they had known each other, they had been through more together than most people had to endure in a lifetime.

"Why shouldn't I?" Alistair argued. "My foot sent it to its final rest."

 _Cocky bastard. What was so wrong with me?_

The pirate sheathed his cutlasses. "Then it stands to reason, I get to count the ogre. Not that it really matters, I still got more kills under my belt this time than either of you."

 _Another cocky bastard. On him, I don't mind so much, though._

"No," Alistair maintained. "Even if I let you count the ogre, you have fourteen. Same as me."

Garrett scowled. "Only if _you_ count the ogre and that last hurlock, which I still contend was Sithig's kill." He turned to the commander. "It's up to you, love. You get the deciding vote."

If only it were that easy. If she truly got the "deciding vote", as the pirate claimed, she would choose both of them. She folded her arms over her chest and regarded each man in turn. As much as she loved Garrett, she also loved Alistair. It just wasn't fair, especially knowing her fellow Warden had similar feelings for the pirate. He never said as much, but he didn't have to. It was quite obvious, at least to her. If only the world worked the way she wished it to, if only Alistair felt the same for her as he did for Garrett. Of course, that would mean Garrett would need to alter his stance on being with other men. Then again, maybe not. It was possible they could both be with her and never with each other. Wasn't it?

For the moment, however, she had another choice. One that was securely in her power to make. "I win."

"And how does that work?" the prince whinged.

She presented him with a sly smile. He may have belonged to her sister, but that didn't mean she couldn't flirt a little.

"Because I said so," she shrugged before sauntering toward a large stone statue in the center of the village with her hips swaying a bit more than was proper for the Commander of the Grey.

* * *

Garrett's face twisted into a grimace. "That's probably the ugliest statue I've ever seen, and trust me when I tell you, I've seen some really ugly ones."

The pirate was in a foul mood, and Alistair attempting to bolster his kill numbers didn't do anything to help the situation. He glared at the back of his friend's head when he noticed Miriana give the prince a shy smile. Sometime the previous evening, the friendship between the two of them transformed into much more. Garrett knew his jealousy was ludicrous. Miri and Alistair deserved all the joy life could afford them. They were amazing people, and the pirate cared for them both a great deal. Why shouldn't they find happiness with each other?

"It's not a statue. Not exactly," Cullen offered. "It's a stone golem that used to belong to a mage named Wilhelm who lived in the village years ago. The stories say that when they found Wilhelm dead, the golem was standing over his body. Everyone in Honnleath was convinced the golem killed its master, including Wilhelm's wife."

 _Because you wanted to be the one to put that smile on her face._

"Wilhelm?" Solona questioned. "The mage that fought alongside King Maric during the war with Orlais? The one who organized the defenses of the remaining rebel army after Maric was declared dead by Meghren?"

Garrett grinned upon hearing Solona's question. The woman was shrewd, intelligent, and beautiful. It amazed him sometimes just how smart and well-read she was and how much she knew about history, foreign cultures, and government, especially for someone who never really got the chance to experience the outside world first hand. Unlike most men, he wasn't threatened by her brilliance, simply amazed that she chose to love someone as rough around the edges as him.

The templar shrugged. "From what I understand. He died several years before I was born."

Solona's lids narrowed as she continued to stare up at the inanimate creature. "Interesting."

"Wait a minute," Alistair grimaced. "I know that look. What in the void are you thinking of doing now?"

Garrett almost envied the relationship the two Wardens shared. They had been through so much together that he wondered if he would ever be as close to Solona as Alistair was.

The commander folded her arms over her chest. "I was just thinking about how advantageous it would be to have a golem at our disposal. Especially this one. It and its master were instrumental in the defeat of the Orlesian forces."

 _Oh no, love. Not that. That thing will sink my ship as sure as I'm standing here._

"Well, unless you plan to use it as a battering ram," her fellow Warden reminded her. "I think that point's kind of moot."

"There must be a control rod for the thing," she mused, completely ignoring the prince's observation. "I wonder if it's still in the village somewhere."

Morrigan came to a stop next to Solona. "Tis all well and good to dream of golems and such nonsense, but, correct me if I am wrong, we traveled to this infernal village for another reason."

"You're right," Solona agreed. "So, I propose we locate this sister of Genitivi's, then we find a way to activate that golem."

* * *

Although much of the village had been burned, the Chantry and a handful of homes on the south side remained intact. They explored a few of the buildings only to find them all abandoned. Furniture remained standing in its proper place, and every house still had food in its larders. It was strange, with the exception of five human corpses littering the village pathways, it was as if everyone who lived there simply disappeared.

After an unsuccessful inspection of the Chantry, Cullen made the suggestion that any remaining citizens of Honnleath may have chosen to hole up in the cellar of a house belonging to a man named Matthias. Solona ordered Alistair, Garrett, Miriana, and the templar to accompany her to the lower recesses of Matthias's home, where they were accosted by more darkspawn trying to break through a magical barrier in the corner of the room.

When all the creatures had been defeated and lay dead on the floor, Cullen approached the shield, craning his neck to look over the heads of the villagers in the front. After a few moments, his shoulders slumped before he turned to face the others with an expression of defeat.

"They're not here."

A tall man in the front dropped the barrier with a wave of his hand and stepped forward. "Who are you? Who are you looking for?"

"I was hoping to find Stanton and Celia Rutherford. Or perhaps, Mia? Or Branson? Do you know what happened to them, Matthias?"

"You're little Cullen," the man observed. "You've grown since I last saw you. Mia took Branson and Rosalie to stay with your aunt in South Reach."

The lines in the templar's brow deepened. "And my parents?"

Matthias shook his head. "I'm sorry, Cullen. When we heard of darkspawn attacks and rumors of a Blight, your father sent Mia and the children with some of the others who were fleeing to South Reach for their own safety. Stanton chose to stay behind to help defend the village, and your mother refused to leave his side. They were killed when the last wave of darkspawn before this one came. This is the fourth attack in as many months. We're all that's left."

Cullen closed his lids and gave the man a solemn nod as a tear trickled down his cheek. He turned to Solona with a grief-stricken grimace. "I need to get some air."

"Take your time," she told him.

Her expression was stone, but Alistair recognized the tightening of her jaw and a slight shimmer in her eyes. It was obvious she wanted to say more to the templar but chose to keep her thoughts and any sympathy she felt to herself. There was something between the two of them, and it wasn't as one-sided as the prince's fellow Warden liked to pretend. Before Cullen disappeared through the doorway leading upstairs, Solona straightened her shoulders and addressed Matthias.

"I am Solona Amell, Commander of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden. I'm looking for Brother Genitivi and was told his sister may have information on his whereabouts."

"Sadly, Mother Ava perished with the first attack," Matthias informed her. "But you're welcome to search her office in the Chantry if you like."

Solona spun on her heel to leave. "Then I suppose we should get to the Chantry."

"Wait!" he called to her back. "Please. My daughter is missing. I think she traveled further into the tunnels and was caught in one of my father's traps. I'll give you anything you want if you go and retrieve her for me."

The Warden Commander's lips curved into a devious smile as she turned her attention back to the desperate man. "Alright, then. I'd be willing to offer my aid, but first thing's first. Let's talk control rod."

* * *

It was nearly dawn when the Wardens returned to Matthias with his daughter in tow. Solona estimated the system of tunnels and rooms Wilhelm created must have ran the length and breadth of the village and beyond. Maneuvering through all the magical and mechanical traps was no easy feat, leaving Garrett to wonder how in the void a small girl managed to find her way into the farthest chamber without a scratch on her.

When they finally located Amalia, she was playing with an oddly colored and patterned cat, blissfully unaware that the talking animal was a desire demon in a less conspicuous form. Using his unique powers of persuasion and a bit of flattery, the pirate conned the demon into relinquishing the girl before separating the beast's head from its body. Amalia, of course, was upset over the loss of her pet, but Alistair was able to calm her when he promised to deliver a new cat to her personally when the Blight was ended.

Matthias was reluctant to hold up his end of the bargain, but the commander bullied him into releasing the golem's control rod in the end. The idea of a stone golem aboard his ship, even one that had been reduced to a smaller stature, was one Garrett wasn't willing to entertain. Somehow, he had to convince Solona to give up the fool notion before she reanimated the bloody thing.

As they made their way back to the Chantry to search Mother Ava's office, the first rays of dawn shimmered between the buildings on the east side of the village. The serene landscape would have been ideal if it weren't for all the darkspawn corpses littering the lawns and pathways. Garrett's gaze trailed a line across the carnage to the great stone beast in the center of town.

"So, you're really planning on going through with it, then? Bringing that bloody golem to life?"

The mage lifted her shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. "Perhaps. I really haven't decided yet. It could come in very handy in defense against the darkspawn. On the other hand, I'm fairly certain having it follow us around would be like a town crier in a canyon announcing our impending arrival. There are both advantages and disadvantages. I just need to weigh them out before I choose our best course of action."

"Well, here's a disadvantage you may not have considered, I don't think that thing and my lady will get along very well."

Solona's brow creased as she twisted her face into a thoughtful scowl. "I suppose that _would_ be slightly problematic. Especially if we're taking Bodahn and his cart along on the ship. A golem would be advantageous, but not at the cost of supplies and more men." She peered down at the crystal rod in her hand. "I'm going to keep this, though. Just in case we need the creature later. Perhaps I could send someone to fetch it if we get into a real bind."

Garrett took hold of her free hand and placed a soft kiss on her knuckles. "That's what I love about you. Practical as well as beautiful."

"Thank you," she offered with a self-satisfied smirk. "It's nice to meet a man who appreciates intelligence in a woman instead of behaving as if it's a slight to his manhood."

He pulled her into his embrace until his leather clad erection was pressed into her hip, regarded her with an impish grin, and leaned closer to whisper into her ear. "Oh, trust me, love, knowing that I've caught the eye of a woman as lovely and as brilliant as yourself could only bolster my manhood." He exhaled, a long, warm breath. "In fact, I'm counting the minutes until I can have you all to myself this evening."

He raked his teeth across her lobe with a gentle nip, released his hold on her, and turned to face their destination, leaving her flushed and trembling from the prospect of the night's impending interlude.

 _That should certainly put her mind off that damned golem until we get the void out of this bloody village._

* * *

After a thorough search of the Revered Mother's office, Solona was ready to give up on finding any clues to Genitivi's whereabouts when Leliana discovered a false bottom hidden in the lower right hand drawer of the woman's desk. The rogue removed several unsealed envelopes bearing Mother Ava's name and a rolled piece of vellum with the word, _Haven_ written along it's exposed edge.

Solona snatched the oversized scroll from the rogue's hand then placed it upon the desk's worn wooden surface before unfurling it to uncover a detailed map of Ferelden with several locations crossed out with an X along its expanse. "So, what in the bloody void are we looking for? This damned thing is so marked up, I can barely discern anything."

Starting at the top left corner, Garrett ran a jeweled index finger across the page and began to work his way down to the bottom in sweeping lines. When he reached an area in the Frostback approximately two days northwest of Redcliffe, he stopped and tapped a small dot surrounded by a thin, faint circle of ink.

"There. That's the place you're searching for."

"And what makes you so sure?" Alistair questioned.

The captain waggled his heavy brows. "Pirate. Remember, mate? It's an old trick pirates use to find treasure they've buried. You mark up a map with heavy blots of ink to confuse anyone who doesn't know what they're searching for. Then you use the lightest hand possible to mark the desired location, just in case the map falls into the hands of an inexperienced and unsuspecting bastard looking to get rich off your hard-won booty.

"In his younger days, my dad was an expert at reading these bloody things, but his eyesight went to shit. So, he taught me to do it when I was five. The old man would argue the point, but I'd say I got better at it than he ever was."

Solona arched a brow. "While I trust your expertise, Garrett, I'm not inclined to traipse off through the Frostbacks this time of year without a bit more to go on. This mark could be pointing to anything."

"Then perhaps this will put your mind at ease," Leliana interrupted, brandishing a crisp piece of parchment. She held the paper at eye level and read aloud:

 _My dearest sister,_

 _I know it has been quite some time since I last wrote. Please accept my apologies for the lack of communication and any worry it may have caused you. With the prospect of a Blight looming over Ferelden, I feel it is more important now than ever to find the location of the temple. As you know, my research has taken me all over the southern continent, but, I've always come short of my goal. Until now._

 _I think I found it, Ava. After all this time. Unfortunately, it seems there are some in this world who don't want this information getting out. I won't go into any details, sister, but suffice it to say, I believe I may have gotten myself into a bit of a sticky situation. But, as father use to say, the greatest rewards always follow adversity. Just know that I am taking every precaution possible to avoid endangering my life or health._

 _However, even the best laid plans fall short at times, so I am sending you a copy of a map through a separate courier marking the location where I intend to travel. I know it's a bit confusing upon first inspection, but I did that to avoid anyone else finding the place before I get the chance to investigate it. It's an ancient Avvar village, but I couldn't make out the name on the original map due to the fading of the ink used (most likely a concoction of blood and berry juice someone tried very hard to scrub out). So, I've taken to calling it Haven._

 _If, by chance, I do come up missing and you decide to send someone after me, please ensure it is someone you know well and trust in case Haven holds the key to the temple. With the potential power the ashes hold, I would not want to be responsible for them getting into the wrong hands. You and I both know the importance of this discovery, Ava, and I think we can both agree that the Divine needs to be the one to make the final decision regarding public knowledge._

 _In closing, allow me to say one last thing. I love you, sister. No matter what else happens, always remember that. Take care of yourself, and may the Maker watch over us all._

 _Yours in the Maker and in love,_

 _Ferdinand_

Garrett crossed his arms over his chest with a smug grin. "Perhaps next time you'll trust an old pirate's gut, eh, love?"

Solona rolled up the parchment and sealed the seam with magic, completely ignoring her lover's question. "Then our task in Honnleath is at an end. Unless anyone here particularly likes the stench of darkspawn and would rather remain a while longer."

A chorus of rejections of the commander's idea echoed through the empty cathedral while Solona tucked the map to Haven between her tunic and belt then used a small piece of leather strapping to secure it for good measure. She was unsure whether the map would actually lead to the long lost Temple of Andraste and the remains of the dead prophet, but at least it was something to go on.


	45. Unwelcome Reunion

After nearly two weeks of sleeping in the cargo hold of the most disgusting ship imaginable, the remaining Hawke family and Aveline finally arrived in Kirkwall. Ready at long last to stop feeling the waves move beneath her and taste air that didn't reek of human excrement and animal dung, Gabrielle forced her way past the other refugees to the upper deck. She spent most of the journey with her face in a bucket vomiting the mere memory of food. She needed to get off that ship and onto land before her boots made an appearance through her mouth. It was a well-known fact among mages that pyromancers didn't do well surrounded by water, and the stronger a fire mage was, the worse seasickness they suffered.

When she finally reached the deck, Gabrielle didn't bother waiting for the captain's order to depart. Instead, she leapt over the side of the ship onto the dock next to the bosun's mate who was attempting to part the crowd far enough to drop the gangplank. With that infernal vessel at her back, the apostate inhaled a deep breath. Before her lungs were filled with what she assumed was fresh air, she started to choke and gag on the foul stench of rotten fish, stinking flesh, and raw sewage. Unable to hold back the minute bit of constitution she managed to keep until that point, she began to dry heave onto the weathered pier.

After several minutes of retching, the mage worked her way over to a nearby wall, finding that, the further away from the water she moved, the more human she felt. When at last she reached her destination, she collapsed against the stone and wiped the spittle from her chin before peering around to find nothing but a sea of people with their backs turned to her. Once she managed to catch her breath, Gabrielle hoisted herself atop a pile of crates stacked up near the wall to gain a better vantage point. As her gaze moved along the dock to take in her surroundings, her gut twisted again.

They still weren't in Kirkwall. The actual city lay across a wide channel blocked by a giant chain between two weeping statues. The Gallows. Gabrielle and her family were stuck on the outside of the bloody Gallows, and it was even more depressing and ominous than her father could ever describe. Bile rose to the back of her throat as she returned her attention to the crowd below.

Everywhere she looked, people were crammed together like herrings in a cask. Hundreds of refugees were gathered around an archway in the center of the wall that led into the Gallows proper. Why in the Maker's name would anyone want to go in there?

She exhaled a dismal sigh. The answer was simple. Desperation. Kirkwall's gates were shut, and the crowd outside grew larger by the day. Just like the Hawke family, everyone there had lost their homes and left everything they knew behind in the wake of the Blight with nowhere else to go. The very air was thick with anger and fear. A dangerous combination in such a volatile setting. Gabrielle had to get her family past those guards by any means necessary, before the pot boiled over.

She spied Aveline nearby and jumped down from her position. "So, what do you think?"

The redhead's lids narrowed as she watched the heaviest choke point. "I think we need to get the void out of here before it's too late. Wesley told me once that when those damned chains are up, nothing is allowed to cross the channel into the city without the Knight Commander's permission."

"The Knight Commander?" the mage blanched. "How in the bloody void does the Knight Commander keep the city locked down? I know the templars have a lot of pull here, but Kirkwall's hardly Val Royeaux. It's not run by the fucking Chantry."

The warrior harrumphed. "I never said it was run by the Chantry. It's run by the Knight Commander. Or it may as well be. From what Wesley told me, since Meredith gained the title, everything goes through her. Even the city guards and the Viscount bow to her will more times than not."

 _Meredith. Fuck._

Gabrielle was familiar with Meredith, or at least with her reputation. Her father had tangled with the woman more than once before he left Kirkwall for Ferelden with his pregnant bride, and he never spoke kindly of the templar. And Meredith was only Knight Captain back then. Gabrielle couldn't imagine how much worse she had become as the Commander.

"There's a group of guards over there trying to hold back the mob," Aveline continued, interrupting the mage's thoughts. "But I doubt they're the ones who can get us into the city. We just need to convince them to let us through so we can talk to whoever the Knight Commander really put in charge of this mess."

"Alright," Gabrielle agreed with reluctance. She didn't relish the idea of entering the gates of the most feared Circle in Thedas. "I'll follow your lead, if you think that's best. Only one question. How in the Maker's name are we going to convince them to let _us_ through when nobody else seems to be having any luck? We're just going to look like another group of Fereldan refugees to those assholes."

Aveline tilted her head toward Leandra who was standing next to the wall wringing her hands while Carver attempted to keep her calm. "Simple. We use your mother. Maker knows she gave us all enough grief on the journey here. I swear to Andraste and all that's holy, if I had to listen to one more story about how popular your grandmother was among all the other noble ladies I was going to wring her whiny neck." She stopped and drew a deep breath. "Sorry, Hawke. I should've kept that to myself, I suppose."

The mage shrugged. "Why? Trust me, I've wanted to wring my mother's neck for years."

"I would say I'm shocked," the other woman offered. "But given all the bullshit she was spouting about you while we were making our way through Ferelden, it's understandable."

Gabrielle's lower lip disappeared between her teeth as she watched her mother fake another near fainting spell. She almost felt sorry for Carver being the one to deal with Leandra's childish behavior for a change. It wasn't that the mage hated her mother, not really. After all, how could she? The woman gave her life.

Her shoulders lifted and fell with a protracted sigh. "So, what's your plan?"

"I say we do a little name dropping. According to Leandra, the Amells are _the_ most prominent family in the city. That's got to be worth enough to at least get us through the first contingent of guards."

"But my grandparents disowned my mother when she left," the mage reminded the warrior. "I'm not sure how far that's going to get us."

Aveline arched a knowing brow. "If your grandmother was the uppity bitch Leandra described to me, there's no way she'd have allowed such a disgraceful secret to be made public."

Gabrielle crossed her arms with a derisive snort. "Isn't that the truth? You should hear the stories of the way my grandparents talked about my mother's cousin, Revka. I'm fairly certain Emilita Amell would've shit a live chicken if any of her friends ever found out about me."

The warrior shook her head with a chuckle. "You definitely know how to turn a colorful phrase, Hawke." She gestured to Carver and Leandra. "Now go rescue your brother from Leandra's whinging and let's get the void out of here."

After several minutes of coaxing her mother away from her hiding place at the wall, Gabrielle and the others made their way through the throng to the gate only to have one of the soldiers shove the mage back into the crowd. Although she knew she needed to approach the situation with a delicate touch, Gabrielle's hackles were already raised from the long journey and her family's complaining, so she moved to push back. Fortunately, Aveline had enough wits about her to grab Gabrielle's arm and yank her away before the apostate's hand made contact with the man.

"Let me handle this," she hissed into her companion's ear before releasing the smaller woman and approaching the soldier with a rigid stance. "Are you in charge here?"

"As far as you're concerned, I am. Get back you mongrel. You reek of dog shit."

The redhead placed her hands on her hips and glared at the man. "If you were in my regiment, I'd have your sorry ass flogged. Don't they have some kind of physical training program for the guard in this city, or is your captain as slovenly and fat as you?"

The soldier cracked his knuckles with a sneer. "You're going to pay for that, bitch."

Aveline pulled her sword from its sheath and held the point to the man's chest. "Before you decide to play the hero and throw yourself on the end of my blade for the sake of your own pride, perhaps you should listen to what I have to say." She regarded the man's fellows with a sweeping gaze. "No need to start a riot, now is there men? I just want to talk. Unfortunately, some people won't clean the ass out of their ears unless they're faced with the imminent threat of death."

"What do you want?" asked the soldier.

"My name is Captain Aveline Vallen of the Ferelden Royal Army. I was tasked with accompanying one of your noblewomen back to the city by General Hawke."

The man inspected the two women standing behind the warrior and harrumphed. "I don't see any nobles out here, just a bunch of bitches."

"I do hope it's the heat of the sun addling your brain and you're really not just this stupid." She pointed to Leandra. "This is the daughter of one of the most prominent families in Kirkwall. I mean just take a look at that bone structure and those teeth. It's obvious she's not just another one of the riffraff. Ever heard of the Amell family? Or don't you know anything about the history of your own city?"

The guard narrowed his lids in concentration. "Actually, that name does sound familiar." After a moment, his face relaxed to a disbelieving expression. "But if she's a noble, why is she dressed in rags? And why are you out of uniform? Not to mention the fact that you stink like piss same as these other dogs."

"In case you just crawled out from under a rock and are completely oblivious, there's a Blight in Ferelden. Unfortunately, we were besieged by darkspawn before we could procure proper transportation and were forced to travel here on one of the refugee ships. Do you really think I would allow a noblewoman to dress in her finery under such circumstances and accommodations or that I would wear my uniform? We'd all be robbed or worse."

The man scratched his head with a grimace. "I suppose that does make sense. "How many are you looking to get through?"

"Just the four of us," Aveline replied, sheathing her blade. "The Lady Amell, her two children, and myself."

The guard scanned the crowd before relinquishing a curt nod. "Go on through and peddle your bullshit story to Captain Ewald. If he believes you, it'll be passed through channels to the Knight Commander before you're allowed into the city. No skin off my nose. At least I won't have to deal with your stinking asses anymore."

"Thanks," the redhead scoffed before gently taking Leandra's arm. "Come along my lady. The sooner we get away from this riffraff and get you home, the better."

Once past the first wave of guards, Aveline maintained her hold on Leandra's arm as they made their way to the gates that would open to the cityside docks. Along the path, Gabrielle spotted a group of leather-clad brigands speaking with two uniformed men in the shadows, most likely pirates or smugglers making illicit bargains with the guard to get unauthorized cargo either in or out of the city. Malcolm Hawke always said underpaid guards were willing to break as many laws as they upheld if the coin was good enough, and Kirkwall's law enforcement was the pinnacle of that truism.

 _What the fuck have I gotten us into?_

When they finally reached the oversized western gate, they were met by a lone guard dressed in more ornately trimmed armor than his southern dockside cohorts. He folded his large arms over his broad chest before regarding the trespassers with a bored expression.

"And just where do you lot think you're going?"

Aveline released her grip on Leandra and approached the blonde man to stand toe to toe with him. Gabrielle had to give it to the woman, she wasn't one to be intimidated. She was a warrior, a leader, and it was obvious to everyone around her that she was accustomed to people following her orders.

"Are you Ewald?" she questioned. "I'm Captain Aveline Vallen of the Ferelden Royal Army. I was told to see you about getting one of your noblewomen back to her residence in the city."

The man looked the redhead over from head to toe before throwing a quick glance at the three people standing behind her. It was obvious that his rank was earned through being smarter than his counterparts. He would not be fooled or cowed so easily.

"Is that so?" he asked beneath a raised brow then held out his palm. "Orders?"

Aveline presented a nonchalant shrug. "Lost in the interim. Most likely pilfered by some refugee while we were boarding the ship. The lady's name is Amell. Leandra Amell. Daughter of Lord Aristide and Lady Emilita."

The guardsman harrumphed. "That name doesn't mean shit in Kirkwall anymore, Captain. If you're going to try to bullshit your way past me, you could at least have the decency to come up with a better story. The only Amell I know is a two-bit drunk who'd sell his own mother for a shot of whiskey."

"Gamlen?" Leandra gasped.

Captain Ewald's brows drew together in a puzzled expression. "That's right. How'd you know?"

"Gamlen Amell is my younger brother," the older woman replied. "But we had a falling out when I left the city. We haven't spoken in years."

Gabrielle winced at her mother's honesty. How in the bloody void was that supposed to help them? At best, it would just get them sent back to the southern docks to starve with the rest of the refugees.

The captain stared at Leandra for a long moment before heaving a resigned sigh. "Meredith will have my balls in a sling if I allow you to pass without the proper paperwork, but, seeing as you profess to be a native of Kirkwall, I can get a message to Gamlen. Maybe he can do something, but I wouldn't hold out much hope, even if you are telling the truth."

Leandra brandished her most winning and demure smile, the one she always used on Gabrielle's father to get her way. "That would be lovely, Captain. Thank you."

Ewald pointed to a short passageway just off the courtyard. "In the meantime, you're welcome to camp out over there for the next few days. It'll keep your heads dry if it rains, and, with a guard constantly staked out here, most of the seedier elements who usually haunt the courtyard won't bother you."

Aveline put a fist to her heart and gave a curt nod. "My thanks, Captain. Your cooperation is appreciated."

"Don't thank me yet, dog lord. You have three days. If that drunken bastard doesn't show up by sunset on the third day, you're going back out with the rest of the mongrels."

For the first time since leaving Lothering, Gabrielle felt a glimmer of hope, albeit a minuscule one. Even if her uncle was as bad as the captain proclaimed, having ties to the city obviously held some weight with the guard. Her grandfather was once asked to take over as viscount when Chivalry Threnhold died. Unfortunately, Aristide Amell died of cholera before Chivalry passed, and the city lived under nine more years of tyranny under the older Threnhold and his son, Perrin.

Her mother, of course, was in complete denial as Carver spread out an old blanket for her to sit on. "You'll see. Gamlen will fix everything. I know we haven't corresponded in eighteen years, but we're still family. He'll make sure we're allowed passage into the city, then we can go to the estate. I just hope he doesn't give me too much grief about taking back my old room. I can't imagine he would. I'm sure he's taken mother and father's bedchamber for himself…"

As she continued to ramble, Gabrielle stole a sidelong glance at Aveline, who appeared to be just as unconvinced as she felt. The phrase, "sell his mother for a shot of whiskey" kept rolling over in the mage's mind. It certainly didn't elicit the image of a prosperous man. Not to mention the fact that Captain Ewald said that the name Amell didn't mean shit anymore.

Aveline took a step to the side then leaned over to whisper in Gabrielle's ear. "Why do I get the feeling we're all about to be severely disappointed?"

The mage exhaled a long breath. "Because my entire life has been nothing but a series of one disappointment after another. Why should that change now?"

Aveline's left brow shot up. "So, what you're telling me is that you're the daughter of misfortune and I should run as far away from you as quickly as I can before your bad luck rubs off on me."

"Sorry," Gabrielle said with a shrug. "I probably should've warned you about that sooner."

"It might have been pertinent information, but I suppose it's too late now. The absence of coin leaves me without any other options. So, I guess I'm stuck with you and your shitty luck for a while longer."

* * *

For the next three days, the knot in Gabrielle's stomach continued to grow as she watched Leandra's enthusiastic optimism wither. For the first time since she was a young girl, the mage felt something other than disdain for her mother. She actually pitied the woman.

Carver was frazzled from trying to keep Leandra calm, while his sister and Aveline did their best to keep enough food in their bellies to prevent them from starving. By dusk, Gabrielle had given up on her uncle and busied herself forming an alternate plan for her family's survival. A glance at Captain Ewald told her that the man was growing tired of seeing them and listening to Leandra's overemoting sobs.

As the sun began to sink behind the western wall, the mage stood and dusted off the back of her oversized trousers. If they were forced to leave the courtyard, she sure as the void wasn't waiting for some damned guardsmen to haul them out. Aveline followed Gabrielle's lead and rose to her feet before tapping Carver's shoulder to let him know he needed to help his mother off the blanket she occupied during their stay.

In typical fashion, Leandra refused to listen, choosing instead to clutch the coverlet and curl into a ball like a spoiled, melodramatic child. "No, I can't. I won't," she cried. "Just leave me to die here. I have nothing left to live for anyway."

A tired looking man who Gabrielle estimated to be in his mid to late forties with sunken eyes and reeking of cheap whiskey appeared at her side and crossed his arms. "Even after all these years, you're still the same prima donna, aren't you, sister?"

Like a door slamming shut in a gale, Leandra's choking sobs ceased, and she leapt to her feet with a bright grin to throw her arms around her estranged brother. Gamlen, on the other hand, did not appear nearly as pleased with the reunion as his sister. In fact, he looked completely miserable. When he had tolerated as much of Leandra's affection as he could bear, he jerked away and shook his head.

"Damn, girl, the years haven't been kind to you. Have they?"

His sister giggled as she gave the old sot's shoulder a playful smack. "Don't tease, Gamlen. What would mother say?"

He pshawed with a contemptuous grimace. "I really don't give a rat's ass what mother would say. She's dead. They both are. Let them rot in the void where they belong."

"Gamlen!" Leandra gasped, her eyes wide with shock. "How can you say such things about our parents?"

His scowl deepened. "You weren't the one who had to wipe the drool from their chins and clean the shit off their asses. No thanks for it, no appreciation. Instead, they whined and cried because all they wanted was their precious baby girl to return. And where were you? Off with your stinking Ferelden apostate. They needed you Leandra. I needed you. You ran away, leaving me sole caretaker for ungrateful parents and a life you left behind."

Gabrielle never considered what it must have been like for her uncle. Her mother always described him as idealistic, a bit of a dreamer. The man standing before her was none of those things, just someone who had been beaten down by life with no hopes or aspirations left to sustain him.

His clothes were old and stained, not much better than rags. Whatever happened in the years after Leandra left Kirkwall behind left Gamlen Amell a broken, shell of a man. He wasn't a lord. Only a pauper whose family's money and influence had long since passed.

The space between Leandra's brows disappeared in a morose frown. "It wasn't exactly easy for me either, brother. The idea of running away to be a mercenary apostate's bride was much more romantic than the reality. And when he died, he left me with nothing but three children and no way to support them."

A disdainful grunt escaped Gabrielle's lips upon hearing her mother's words. How dare she? Gabrielle was the one who supported their family even before Malcolm's death. She was the one who changed the diapers and kept the twins fed; wiped their runny noses and sat at their bedsides when they were sick. All while her mother nursed fits of melancholy in her bed and forever complained about how unfair her life was and how she wished she had never met Malcolm Hawke.

"Your leaving was your choice, sister," Gamlen countered. "I was left without any." His face softened with a heavy sigh. "Anyway, I suppose it doesn't matter anymore. It's all in the past. You're still my sister, still family, and I'm not going to let you rot out here with the rest of these refugees. I don't exactly have the coin to pay for your way into the city, but I've made arrangements with some of your late husband's old friends."

Leandra's expression altered from sadness to angry disbelief. "How is that possible? Mother and father were the wealthiest nobles in Kirkwall."

"It's all gone," the old man replied in a frank and uncaring tone. "And I refuse to have the inevitable argument about the hows and whys here. There will be plenty of time for that later. For now, your children need to see Meeran. He's waiting near the docks."

Gabrielle recognized the name from a few of the stories her father told her of his mercenary days with the Crimson Oars. Malcolm always described the man as a bastard and a bit of a fool. How was he going to help them get into the city?

"What does he want to see us for?" asked Carver.

"He runs a mercenary band called the Red Iron and he's looking for some hirelings, but he won't take you if you can't prove your worth his time. He'll give you a job and if you do it well enough, he'll sponsor you, so long as you sign a contract that you'll stay on for a year…without pay."

"A year?" Leandra blanched. "My children are going to be slaves to that insufferable ass for a year? Without pay? How in the Maker's name are we supposed to pay rent? To eat?"

"I'm not going to get you into the city just have you sleeping in Darktown, sister," Gamlen assured her. "I've got a small apartment in Lowtown. It's not much, but your welcome to stay the year there. I figure it's the least I can do…given the circumstances."

His sister harrumphed. "The very least."

"And what about me?" Aveline interrupted.

The old man shrugged. "I don't see where it makes a difference. You look capable enough. If you can do the job, he'll offer you the same."

Gabrielle massaged her temples with the tips of her forefingers. Her head was pounding, and she was mentally and physically exhausted. Tired of fighting rats for scraps and sleeping on the hard stone of the Gallows' courtyard, she was to the point of desperation. She no longer cared what she had to do to get out of the shadow of that Maker-forsaken place. Fortunately, with the city guard standing watch at the gates, the templar patrols were few and far between, but it was only a matter of time if they didn't get the void out of there.

"So where do we find Meeran?" she asked.

"Across the courtyard," her uncle answered. "The first alleyway off the right side of the market."

The mage walked out into the torch-lit courtyard and motioned for Aveline and Carver to follow. "Might as well get this over with. The sooner we're finished, the sooner we can sleep in a real bed again."

As she made her way to the market, Gabrielle considered what was about to happen to her and her family. Her mother was shocked by the idea of her children being forced into indentured servitude for a year, but how was it any different than what Gabrielle had been doing most of her life? There was never any spare coin for luxuries. Andraste's ass, there were times there wasn't even enough coin for necessities.

Since her father's death, her entire existence revolved around keeping food on the table and a roof over her family's head. Even before Malcolm's passing, she was given the job as caretaker to the rest of them while he went out searching for work and the son he hadn't seen since the boy was an infant. On the other hand, at least when her father did come home, he'd always bring a bit of coin and a sackful of apples.

Gabrielle smiled at the memories of her father's return trips. The first thing he always did after passing out hugs and kisses was peel and slice the fruit then prepare a crust for a pie. Once it was baked, he would use magic to cool it enough to eat and he and his oldest daughter would sit at the dining table with forks in hand and eat warm apple pie straight out of the pan until the entire thing was gone. It was a treat reserved for only Gabrielle, a reward for all her hard work and for being such a big, responsible girl.

When she arrived at the alleyway and spotted the small band of mercenaries at the end of the passage, she stopped and drew a deep breath. Hopefully, her father's stories about his days with the Oars were true and not just the boasting of a man trying to impress his little girl. Malcolm was always overly cocky and prone to elaborate tales of his misdeeds and skills with a blade. Taught by the greatest pirate to ever sail the seven seas, he used to say. Maybe that reputation would be enough to make up for her small stature and a dimwitted brother. She inhaled another long breath.

 _Well, no time like the present, I suppose. Wish me luck, dad._


	46. A Night At Camp

After filling her bowl with the rabbit stew Leliana cooked for supper, Miri sat down next to Alistair to enjoy her meal and rest her feet. As usual of late, it had been a long and trying day. Although their encounters with darkspawn were becoming less frequent the further north they traveled, fighting the blighted creatures remained a daunting and dangerous task. So far, the young mage had been lucky enough to avoid becoming tainted, but the way things were going, it was only a matter of time.

Outside some sort of ritual Alistair wouldn't talk about, she didn't know exactly what was involved in becoming a true Warden, but she had a fairly good idea. In her training as a healer, one of the reading materials First Enchanter Wenda gave her to study was a dissertation on the human body's immunity to certain diseases and how that came about. The author made it very clear that true immunity came from the introduction of infections into the body, either by being passed on by the subject's parents or by personal contact. In the case of the taint, that could only mean one thing, somehow, Miri would have to contract the disease herself. How her body would obtain the ability to fight the infection was a secret her new beau had no intention of parting with.

When she was fully settled onto the fallen log and ready to eat, Alistair presented her with a warm smile. "It's not bad as far as Orlesian cooking goes."

The redheaded rogue rolled her eyes. "It's rabbit stew, Alistair, not _Coq au Vin_."

"You're Orlesian, right?" the warrior questioned with a mischievous smirk. "And since you cooked it, by default, that makes this stew Orlesian cooking."

The rogue shook her head with a heavy sigh. " _Le Crèateur m'aide_."

"You truly are a simpleton," Solona quipped beneath an arched left brow.

Alistair scooped a potato and a bit of meat up with his spoon and popped it into his mouth with a widened grin. "So I've been told," he countered between bites.

Miri knew the prince was just playing the fool. He was a lot more intelligent than he led most people to believe, more so than he himself realized. He was also kind, funny, and a bit of a romantic. There was only one problem with him in Miri's eyes. He wasn't Garrett.

The mage peered across the fire to watch her sister whisper into the captain's ear and he give her a knowing smirk in return, leaving Miriana with a pain in her gut. Upon their departure from Honnleath, Solona had become more open with her affections toward the pirate. Miri even overheard Garrett say the words "I love you" to her sister earlier that day. Her chest and shoulders lifted and fell with an uneven breath.

 _I can't blame him. Why would he ever choose someone like me over her?_

She turned her attention to Alistair, who continued to tease Leliana. She did love him. There was no denying that fact. She was lucky to have earned the affections of such a handsome and wonderful man. Still, Garrett's rejection left a hole within her soul she couldn't deny or quell.

"What in the void's got you so cranky, Lel?" Alistair finally asked when the rogue threw a piece of hardtack at his head.

She gave a slow shrug and scowled. "I'm just worried. About the others."

Solona had ordered Cullen to escort Wynne, Morrigan, Jowan, Harley and the dwarves back to Redcliffe that morning. Given the templar's state of mind and his increased lyrium use since leaving Honnleath, it was understandable, but considering the fact that most of the party consisted of mages, the move was also a bit troubling.

"You're worried about Jowan, you mean," the prince observed. "Don't think I didn't notice how much time the two of you have spent together on this little excursion."

The redhead's shoulders tightened with a defensive demeanor. "I don't know what you are trying to imply, Alistair, but Jowan and I are just friends. He is a very sweet young man who took a few missteps in his life. I simply wouldn't want to see him come to any harm for it. As for my concern, I'm worried for all of them. Cullen wasn't exactly stable when we left him."

Her scowl deepened as she turned her attention to Solona. "I just can't understand what was going through your head when you sent him alone with those three. It isn't as if Master Bodahn or Sandal will be of any help to the mages if Cullen goes off the deep end."

"It's simple, really," the commander explained. "Given that we are traveling to what could be a hostile environment as far as mages are concerned, I wasn't comfortable taking so many along, but I couldn't very well send them back to Redcliffe without the protection of a sword. As talented as Morrigan and Wynne are with magic, there are some darkspawn that are extremely resistant to it. Not to mention the fact that those emissaries are difficult for the best of us. It made sense to send someone who is effective at negating those beast's spells."

"But why not send Alistair? He and Morrigan don't get along, but I know he would have protected her," the rogue argued.

Solona's expression altered to her mask of indifference. The one she'd always don when she was beginning to lose her patience. Miri had seen the look hundreds of times when they were children. It was one she knew well, usually because it was directed at her.

"Brutal truth? I sent the three of them together because they are the most troublesome of this party. Wynne and I have never gotten along. Morrigan and Alistair bicker constantly, and outside of the use of blood magic, which I've strictly forbade him to do, Jowan's magical skills leave a lot to be desired. Jace has done well in teaching him, but he's still not ready to be left to his own devises.

"As for Cullen, discovering the death of his parents has put him on edge, leaving him unpredictable. I'd hoped that in sending him along with the other mages, it might give him enough of a sense of duty and purpose to snap him out of it. Besides, can you think of anyone better to put in charge of Jowan when I can't be in Redcliffe with him? Cullen vowed to protect Jowan with his life as a personal favor to me, and I know he won't allow Teagan or Isolde to bully him into giving Jowan up for the dungeons, or worse, the slaughter."

Leliana's indignation deflated upon hearing Solona's explanation. "I suppose it makes sense when you put it that way."

"Of course it does," Solona countered in a haughty tone. "I always have sound reasons for my actions. If you disagree with me, then I am willing to entertain your objections, although I will do what I think is best in the end."

 _Same old Solona. Everything her way and in her time._

"Understood," the redhead said with a glare before standing to address the others. "Now, if you don't mind, I think I'll turn in for the evening. _Bonne nuit_."

Among a chorus of goodnights from the others, the rogue scraped her bowl into the fire and headed for her tent without another word. Miri couldn't blame Leliana for being upset by her sister's bullying and callous attitude. Though Solona's reasons made sense, she certainly could have explained them with more tact and consideration.

As she ate her food, Miri did her best to keep her mind and gaze off Garrett. It didn't help much, but at least she was spared seeing his lascivious smiles directed at her sister that way. After several minutes of staring at her plate, she happened a glance at Alistair who was staring across the way at the couple with a disconcerting expression. Her heart immediately sank.

 _Oh dear Maker. He's in love with her too. Why didn't I see it before? Are we simply together because neither of us are with the ones we really want to be with?_

Before she could dwell on the new revelation any further, Alistair set his bowl down next to him, grabbed Miri's and stacked it on top of his, then took her hand. "Let's go for a walk."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "But, it's the middle of the night. The darkspawn."

"I don't sense any around right now. Besides, the smoke is playing the void on my eyes and I think some good old fresh and frigid Ferelden night air might do us both some good."

"But…" the mage began to argue.

The prince placed the end of his fingertip on her lips to quiet her before leaning in close. "And maybe I just want to spend some time alone with you. It seems like ages since you kissed me."

Her mouth widened into a grin. "In that case, I would love to join you for a walk."

By the time Alistair and Miri returned from their walk, Garrett was the only one left awake. After a quick kiss goodnight, Miriana scurried back to her own tent, making it a point to avoid any eye contact with the pirate. The look in Garrett's eyes as he watched her pass, on the other hand, was unmistakable. It was obvious he was in love with her, almost as obvious as her feelings for him.

Alistair wasn't a fool. He was keenly aware that, just because he and Miri were together, it didn't mean her affections for the captain had changed. He couldn't be angry with the mage, however. That would make him a hypocrite. As much as it pained him to admit it, he loved Solona. He couldn't help it. To make matters worse, he was also in love with Garrett.

He had hoped that his time with Miri would lessen his feelings for Solona, but they hadn't. There was no doubt in his mind, if he had to choose one of them, it would be Miriana. She was unlike anyone he'd ever known before. Her natural beauty, kind heart, and understanding nature spoke to his soul in ways he never thought possible. She was amazing.

Still, even given all that, the prince couldn't help but to love her sister too. Solona was sexy, intelligent, brash, and brave. Alistair found strength in her commanding presence and was often awe-stricken by the frail vulnerability she rarely let anyone see. While her disapproving scowls could turn his veins to ice and his bones to jelly, just one of her smiles could brighten his entire world. There was a connection between them, deeper and more intense than he could ever explain, and he could never imagine her not being part of his life.

Alistair headed toward the fallen log next to the fire where Garrett was sitting. "Mind if keep you company for a bit?"

"Sure, mate," the pirate answered as he uncorked a flask then took a swig. "Maybe you can keep me awake a while longer."

The prince sat next the captain and arched a puzzled brow. "If you're already in danger of falling asleep, I'm fairly certain the rum's not going to help matters any."

Garrett replaced the cork and chuckled. "Mother's milk, mate. Keeps the spirits high and the body strong."

He restored the container to its pouch at his belt, retrieved his pipe from the inner pocket of his coat then lit it. With a deep draw, he filled his lungs with its smoke before releasing it in large, billowy rings. Alistair followed suit with his own pipe until there was a grey cloud surrounding both men's heads.

After several minutes of silence, the pirate finally spoke. "So. You and Miri seem to be getting along well."

"I could say the same for you and Solona," the prince observed with a shrug.

"Aye, mate. That you could. A right bonny lass, your commander."

The hint of a smile curved the corners of Alistair's lips. He only hoped his friend didn't suspect the reason behind the affect. "Yes, she is."

There was another lingering pause as an awkward tension settled around the two men like a heavy mist after a summer rainstorm. The prince didn't need to see the other man's face. Garrett knew exactly what that unwitting smirk meant.

Beads of perspiration formed along Alistair's forehead, immediately cooled by the frigid night air. What could he ever say to make that situation better? As much as he loved Solona, he would never betray his best friend to pursue her. He considered cracking a joke to extinguish the uncomfortable silence, but, for the first time in a long while, he just couldn't come up with one.

Garrett retrieved a branch that lay next to his boot and used it to rearrange the logs in the fire. The space between his heavy brows disappeared as he concentrated on the task, obviously gauging the words of the inevitable question. Somehow, Alistair would just have to convince the captain that he posed no threat to their relationship.

"Why haven't you told her?" the pirate queried.

Alistair blanched. That certainly wasn't the inquiry he expected. Maybe he was jumping to conclusions. Maybe Garrett wasn't even asking about his hidden feelings for his fellow Warden.

 _Yeah, right._

He decided to play dumb for the moment. It was an artform he excelled at. "Told who what?"

"Even you aren't that thick, mate," the captain observed with an arch of his left brow. "But if you're going to make me spell it out for you, why haven't you told the lass you love her?"

Beads of sweat began to trickle down the prince's face. How should he answer? What would be the best reply to ensure he wouldn't lose his best friend, or, worse yet, his head.

"Well, and correct me if I'm wrong here, I thought she was with you."

The other man nodded. "True. But that doesn't explain why you never told her before I came along."

How could Alistair explain the reason without looking like a complete fool? Garrett was a pirate. Had been his entire life. He'd most likely been with hundreds of women over the years. Alistair could only imagine the captain's hearty guffaw at his expense when the pirate learned he was a virgin. The prince hated being laughed at. He'd gotten enough of that at the monastery.

The Wardens weren't much better than the templar recruits. Two days after he recovered from his Joining, some of the older Wardens took Alistair to the Knight's Flagon to celebrate. While they were there, a scout named Caldwell passed a collection mug to buy the prince an hour at the Pearl, touting something about tradition.

Alistair had no interest in visiting the brothel. After spending so many years in the Chantry, he believed sex should be more meaningful than a quick tumble with a stranger, especially for his first time. Not only that, but the Joining…changed him. His endowments were never what anyone would consider small, but somehow, he was larger after the ritual. Freakishly large, as a matter of fact. He couldn't see how or why any woman would want him with such an affliction.

It wasn't that he didn't want to bed Solona, but, as much as he loved the mage, he was afraid his inexperience would leave her completely unsatisfied. Given her blunt and oftentimes cruel disposition, he couldn't see any way his already low sense of pride would remain unscathed after the experience.

 _Just make something up, jackass. A noncommittal answer._

He opened his mouth to speak, but found he was, once again, completely at a loss for words. The weight of Garrett's anticipatory gaze bore holes in his skull as he searched for a reason. Any reason but the truth. After several uncomfortable moments, he exhaled an exasperated sight and raked his fingers through his hair.

"Because I was afraid, alright." He ran his tongue over his arid lips. "Solona's…experienced, and I'm…not."

Garrett's face twisted into an impatient grimace. "I already knew that, mate. I didn't ask why you never bedded the lass. I asked why you haven't told her you love her."

Alistair's brow furrowed. "Isn't that reason enough?"

"No. It's not," the captain argued. "Sex is an art that can be taught. Nobody expects you to be perfect the first time, and I'm sure Solona knows that. My own first time was with a lass far more experienced than me. Great teacher, that one."

The prince assumed his friend was referring to a prostitute. He was a pirate after all. He imagined the men on the ship got together and paid for his first time. To make a man out of him.

"I've often wondered, do they make you pay extra for that? It seems they'd charge more for the teaching."

Garrett balked with an offended expression. "Let's get one thing straight right now, mate. I have never once paid for the company of any woman. Not even the first time. I've only been with a prostitute once in my life, and that was my dad's idea. When he found out I'd dropped my maiden sail, he thought sharing a whore would be a right good bonding experience."

Alistair's brow creased with deferential bewilderment. "Sorry. Given your occupation, I just assumed…"

The captain shrugged. "To be honest, I've only ever bedded four women. Not that I haven't enjoyed carnal pursuits many times over the years." He offered the prince an amicable smile. "There's no shame in being discerning, mate."

Alistair picked at a blade of dead grass next to his boot and grinned. "Thanks."

It was a surprising confession. One the prince never expected from a man like Garrett, and only furthered Alistair's love for the man. The captain was a mystery. One Alistair looked forward to unraveling someday.

"So," he began, dragging the word out for emphasis. "I could ask you the same thing, you know. About Miri, I mean."

Garrett renewed his task of pushing the logs around in the fire. "I don't know what you're talking about, mate."

"Right," Alistair scoffed. "I've seen the way you stare at her when you think no one's paying attention. And I'm not stupid or blind enough to deny she hasn't done the same to you."

The captain cocked a brow. "And that doesn't bother you?"

The prince hesitated a long moment to search his own thoughts. He had to admit, Miri's affections for Garrett did provoke a pang of jealousy now and again. On the other hand, she knew Garrett first, so how could he expect her feelings for the pirate to change overnight? And how could he be angry at Garrett for being in love with Miriana when he was in love with Solona?

"No. Not really. I mean, how could it? Considering."

A slight chuckle shook the captain's shoulders. "I suppose you have a point there, mate. It seems we find ourselves smack dab between the hempen halter and the end of the plank. Guess there's only one thing left for us to do."

Alistair's throat constricted with a labored gulp. The prospect of telling Solona how he really felt about her was more frightening than facing a dozen darkspawn on his own. He didn't care what Garrett said, Solona would laugh in his face. He just knew it.

 _Maybe I can stall a little while longer._

"What's that?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

The pirate retrieved a flask from his belt and popped the cork. He brandished a smirk as he settled the lip of the container against his own. "Get blind stinking drunk and pray the darkspawn and the demons keep their distance for the eve. I don't know about you, but I'm not willing to risk the ire of either lass just yet."

Solona sat alone watching the flames of the campfire burn through the dead leaves she added a few moments before. Being an Entropy mage, she was never good at flame spells herself but always found pyromancy a fascinating art. The dual nature of fire, the versatility of an element that could just as easily take a life as save it was both terrifying and wondrous.

Focusing all her concentration on moving the flame across the half-burned logs within the pit, the mage didn't notice Jace's presence until the elf sat down next to her. She jerked in surprise when she caught sight of him, causing the fire to extinguish in an instant.

"Damn!" she cursed.

"No need to worry, my dear girl," he told her as he brought the fire back to life. "It's easily fixed."

She inhaled a deep breath then slowly released it to steady her racing heart. "You startled me."

"It's amazing, isn't it?" he asked. "How the Maker designed the schools of magic to be so perfectly balanced? I haven't met an Entropy mage yet who wasn't good with lightning. Or a Creation mage who didn't have a penchant for ice magic. And, I dare say, Spirit mages are quite handy with earth spells. But I've never seen anyone from those three schools who weren't shite with fire."

Solona donned a bored expression. Conversations regarding the benevolent blessings of the Maker and his grand schemes always put her off. She had no use for fairy stories about a father figure whose feelings were so hurt by rebellious children that he abandoned them and all their future generations until they learned to behave. Even if the Maker were real, she couldn't see any reason to follow such a spoiled, self-important entity. She had trouble enough with being deserted by the people she knew existed.

"Yes," she drawled. "Fascinating."

His shoulders shook with a chuckle. "Alright, my dear. I see I've hit upon a sore subject. So, we'll move on to something that might hold your interest."

"And what might that be?" she asked in a haughty tone. "Are we going to talk about Andraste now?"

His face twisted into a disdainful scowl. "Not unless you want to listen to me rant for the next hour or two."

The hint of a smirk curled the left corner of her mouth. "Not a fan, then?"

"Hardly," he huffed then waved his hand in the air to dismiss the subject. "No. I wondered if, perhaps, you would be interested in learning a new type of magic. Well, new to you. Ancient to Thedas."

Solona had to admit, he piqued her curiosity with that statement. She loved learning unfamiliar spells, especially if their knowledge had been all but lost over time. What could it be? An Entropy spell to add to her repertoire? Maybe something utilitarian. There were so few of those in her chosen school.

To disguise her enthusiasm, the Warden straightened her shoulders and steeled her expression before turning to face the elf. "You have my attention, Jace. For now."

"Excellent," he said with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Because of the existence of the Circles, you are the first mage in ages to wield a sword, but it's not unheard of. At least not for someone of my advanced years. During the time of Arlathan, there was a company of elite soldiers who served as guards to the elven nobles. They were known as Arcane Warriors, and they would use magic to augment their weapons and bodies, giving them greater strength and speed on the battlefield."

The intensity of his gaze nearly took Solona's breath when he leaned forward to continue. "Between the enslavement of elves by the Imperium and the oppression of the Chantry, all history of the existence of such magic was erased. I, however, remember those warriors' secrets, and I can transfer them to you. I think your possession of those skills will prove most useful in the days ahead."

Solona folded her arms over her chest and cocked a brow. "Alright. What do we do first?"


End file.
